The Bourne Vengeance
by Stormin Mormon
Summary: Post Ultimatum. With nowhere else to go, David Webb/Jason Bourne goes to Nicky, as well as sort how his feelings for her. But old enemies of Treadstone don't want either of them alive. Jason Bourne/Nicky Parsons.
1. Faces at Night

Disclaimer: I am not Robert Ludlum, I am not Warner Bros, and I do not own the Bourne series or anything and anyone in it. Come to think of it, why do we put these disclaimers when we know it's a fanfiction site and that the author obviously _doesn't_ own what they're writing about?

The Bourne Vengeance

Chapter I

Faces at Night

_"It was hard for me…with you."_

Her words spiraled through his head like a broken record, repeating again and again. And once more, like he had a minute ago, the man known as Jason Bourne and David Webb tossed and turned in his bed, hunting the sleep that eluded him. Sleep always eluded him now, restless with the memories that had returned and with what haunted him at night. No matter who he was, he could not escape what chased his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night.

He thought of his two names and identities sort of as Gollum and Sméagol, to a lesser degree. Jason Bourne was the killer and assassin, the predator who gave him his will to fight, his desire to kill, and the path to survival all his years and life. Jason Bourne was cold and rational. He was an alpha-male, the leader of his own faction, the lone wolf if necessary. Jason was unafraid to do anything he needed to get what he wanted. If he had to kill his way, then he would. It was all obstacles to Jason, who regarded his allies warily and close friends as members.

David Webb was his side that wanted to enjoy life, to relax, to make friends and relationships that could last and do good on both sides. David Webb was his unbound emotions in him. In David Webb was his sympathy for others and his desire to help them. David Webb had the guilt over the dead faces in his mind, the ones he had killed. David Webb was the one who was plagued with the haunting that not even Jason Bourne could help him escape from. And in a way David Webb was the one who welcomed the haunting and endless repeats of her words.

He tried his best to combine the duality of the two. It was hard, since he had just discovered David Webb, and David Webb was a different person that who he was. Jason Bourne was different person from him as well. He was a combination of the two, and he tried to merge his mentality to match: Jason Bourne with the important and best parts of David Webb. He had already created a new identity to travel under: Jason D. W. Bourne. It was probably obvious to anyone who was looking for him, but that wasn't the point. Hopefully the standing kill-order wasn't in effect, since Black Briar was caught red-handed. He was tired of running, but that wasn't the only reason.

Once more the words echoed through his head. This time he tried to deal with it as Jason. It didn't help at all. Sighing to himself, he stood up. The last sixteen days since he had gotten out of the river had been filled with sleepless nights. The few hours he got were haunted by what repeated in his head.

Every waking thought, every moment he wasn't solely lost in his purpose still in New York, she crept into his thoughts. Sometimes she crept into his thoughts while he was staking out the CIA building. Everything he thought of could be linked back to her in some way. It was worse when he was trying to merge his two identities together during his reflection time. At first he had been trying to merge Jason Bourne into David Webb and trying to become who he had been. After thoughts of her, he started merging David Webb into Jason Bourne, his logic being that she knew him as Jason, and it would be easier if she knew Jason with a little of David.

Jason headed for the mirror to look at himself and stopped. He knew what he looked like; he was tired, exhausted and stricken as a quarry. A small part of him wanted to be the quarry. The major part of him, Jason Bourne and part of David Webb, wanted him to become the predator, to hunt after what pursued him until he had it. The desire was overwhelming sometimes, but he had to remain in New York until he was absolutely certain the kill-order was rescinded. To find out, he needed Pam Landy. But she was busy with the Black Briar clean-up and being situated with her new authority and power, granted by the president for loyalty. So he waited and let himself be the prey.

He crashed down onto the bed, searching for sleep. It still wouldn't provide comfort for him, he knew. In his sleep, her face appeared endlessly in his dreams, never speaking, but keeping that look, that beautiful, asking look full of more emotions than he could name. It haunted him, chased him down, and ran from him when he chased it. When he woke up in the morning, sometimes he was more tired than when he had finally gotten to sleep. He had begun to consider lots of caffeine. However, thoughts of coffee reminded him of their discussion at the diner.

What was it that he didn't remember? _"It was difficult for me…with you."_ What was the full scope of those words? How close had they been during Treadstone, and had Conklin been aware of it? Did she still care for him? If she did, how much? His memory of David Webb and Jason Bourne had returned; his memory of her was still muddled. His best memory was of their first meeting, when Conklin introduced him to his handler and psychologist. It had only been a brief meeting before Conklin took him to his first assignment after Berlin.

The thing that hurt him most was his memory of Berlin, the first time they had met since his amnesia. Thinking about it put pangs of guilt and remorse into his heart: putting a gun to her head in a fit of anger, her crying and begging for him not to kill her. He hadn't known then what had caused him to suddenly feel remorse and leave her. He was certain about it now. What made him feel truly terrible was that even after he nearly killed her, she still wanted to help him. There would be no more of that; after he was certain of the rescinding, he would head straight to Europe and set things straight. He would help her this time, and she wouldn't be threatened anymore for his sake.

He only got a glance of the clock before finally falling asleep. As he expected, she was waiting in his dreams.

*****

There was nothing better to do than think of her while staking Pam's office in the building. What he thought of most was her face, and the looks she had given him. They jerked his heart in more ways than he could imagine or thought possible. For some reason, it affected the Jason Bourne side of him more; David Webb had never known her. Another reason to merge David into Jason and not vice versa; it was Jason and her that might have been close. Now it would be her and Jason with a few better features.

The other thing he remembered the most was her touch. He relived the scene where she came in and handed him the hand towel, doused in hot water. The heat that emanated off of the towel compared little to the cool, yet burning touch of her slender hands. He had thought about simply making contact her hands several times after that. But formality, awkwardness, and something else kept him from doing so; he regretted it. He wished she was here right now, with her touch that set his blood stirring.

Part of David Webb reminded him that Jason Bourne was supposed to be focusing. He did so, attempting to keep her at the back of his head for the moment. This was important; her life was at stake, possibly. That thought was enough to keep him focused intently on what he was doing. He zoomed in on the documents Pamela Landy was reading. They had nothing to do with Black Briar, but he could see a stack regarding them on her desk.

Slowly, she began to creep into his thoughts again, despite his best efforts to stay focused. Bourne soon found himself thinking of the time they had spent working together in Tangier; it was his best memory of her. That led him to think of his first meeting with her in Treadstone…

_They walked through the door without stopping to knock. Later Bourne would learn he didn't have to knock for whoever this is. Conklin walked through the door, and before he even walked in Jason could hear somebody stand up from behind a desk. He walked into the room, not certain what to expect or what Conklin was going to require of him. When he walked in though, he was surprised by who he saw._

_"Jason Bourne, this is Nicky Parsons," Conklin introduced. Nicky kept silent, didn't make any movement or offer to welcome him. Bourne didn't either; he was taking in her face and memorizing it. There was something about it… "She handles logistics and will be your handler and psychologist from now on. After every mission and one every two weeks, you are to meet with her, soldier. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, sir," Bourne replied. Her significance to him explained, strange thoughts began probing his mind. He wanted to ask who she was and where she was from, but his conditioning wouldn't let him be distracted. But there was something in her eyes that had his attention. In fact there were a lot of things in her eyes._

_"Parsons, be ready to see Bourne again in three hours," Conklin ordered, breaking the silence._

_"Yes sir," Nicky answered. Bourne nearly spoke then, to hear her again. There was something hidden in her voice, and his predator skills wanted to find out what, to uncover secrets and expose them. If Conklin noticed Bourne's strange attraction and interest in Nicky, or hers to him, he paid no attention to it._

_"Move out, Bourne," Conklin ordered. Immediately Jason turned and left, obeying orders without question and hesitation. But the look she had given remained._

She always had that look, he knew. A look that penetrated him and was so full of things to say that sometimes simply exchanging expressions told them more about what they were thinking than talking. He couldn't remember talking much with her; her face was the most prominent memory he had of her. It was burning into him.

That was it; Jason Bourne and David Webb would not wait any longer. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open. With a little more force than necessary, he dialed a speed dial. He would not wait any longer to become the predator; he had been the prey of her long enough. He _needed_ to just see her face again, to put an answer to the questions he posed…

Jason could see the phone ring on Landy's desk. She stopped reading what was in her hand and set it down in a neat pile. Then she picked up her phone and answered, not at all preparing for who was calling her. "Pamela Landy," she answered.

"You've done well in a couple of days," he answered. It was always amusing to see people's reactions when they heard his voice on the other line. Pamela adjusted well; she had been called by him twice before. If anyone was used to being called by him, it would be her. She immediately reached for a pen and sticky note.

"Webb? We weren't sure whether you survived that fall."

"You knew," Bourne answered. "When the boats couldn't find me, you knew I had gotten away."

"You can never be certain, David."

"Just call me Jason. It's easier for me to…know me."

"Certainly, Jason. What do you need?"

"I'm wondering if that standing kill order has been lifted yet. I don't want to go anywhere until I'm certain of it." Perhaps he gave something away more than he wanted, because Pam wrote something down for a long time before replying to his request. Was it that evident in his voice?

"There hasn't been time for it, yet," Landy answered finally. "I've been busy with other things. No one follows it or even pays it attention."

"I want it gone."

"It'll be irritating since the program that issued it is shut down, but I'll call this number when I've rescinded both kill orders." So it was evident in his voice. He wanted to hide, to disappear from off the face of the planet again, but he couldn't afford to at the moment. The face and words in his mind wouldn't let him, either.

"I want a copy of the rescinding."

"Fine. I'll call this number when I have them for you."

"Goodbye. And too much coffee is bad for you, Pam," Bourne finished, turning off the phone. Through the spyglass, David Webb had a moment of humor, smiling as he watched her spin around, looking out at the city and trying to catch a glimpse of him. He noted that she was looking the wrong way, too, as he left the building. As soon as she called, he would have the documents he needed, and then he would head to Europe.

Once in Europe, he would become the predator. He would track her across the continent and find her, and chase her down. Then, once he had found her—which he knew wouldn't be difficult for him—he would find out everything. Jason and David would discover why she kept on creeping into his thoughts, why he saw her face each night, how she managed to latch herself into him with that look and deep brown eyes. He would know why, or else he would go mad. It was like when he didn't know himself; not knowing was killing him. All he had to do was find her, and then he would know why she held him so, why he was so attracted to her.

He would find out why he thought of her constantly and saw her in his dreams. He had to know the full extent of what his attraction to her had been, and if it still was.


	2. Closure and Confirmation

Chapter II

Closure and Confirmation

Since Landy had promised to have the information ready for him when he was ready, Bourne had nothing better to do with his time. He waited in his apartment, sitting on his bed and staring blankly at the wall. All his objectives had been complete except for three: confirm the rescinding order, find her somewhere in Europe, and learn why she was haunting his dreams and why his waking thoughts were consumed with her. And he could do none of these until his first objective was completed; there was no way he could find her if her safety wasn't guaranteed. And yet that relied on Landy getting that order rescinded. He was unable to do anything, and he didn't like it.

His hands twitched. If he didn't do anything he was bound to lose it; the pounding headaches were starting to manifest themselves. Trying to think of something, Bourne found himself thinking of her. No matter what he did, he couldn't stop thinking about her; she was invading his thoughts and haunting him, and it drove Bourne mad to not know if they had been in a relationship before. He needed to know, because parts of Jason Bourne and David Webb wanted there to be a relationship to continue. He had nowhere else to go; records indicated any family he had was dead.

Deep within the recesses of his mind, Jason Bourne came up with the idea to keep him busy. It came in the form of remembering his failure to protect Simon Ross. Ross had been killed because he knew about Black Briar and Bourne. But now with Black Briar shut down, perhaps for people to know who he was, and his side of the story, wouldn't be a bad thing. He couldn't believe he was going to do this, but he grabbed a pen and paper and sat down at the apartment desk, deciding to write his memoirs. All he needed was a place to begin.

Ultimately, people needed to know why he did what he did. Looking back on it now, with the memories he had, Bourne knew he had seemed rogue and irrational. But then, it had been the most reasonable thing to do and expect. What else should he have done? Let himself be captured at the embassy? It probably would have helped, but it also meant that Treadstone would have never been shut down, and he would still be a killer. Bourne began to write notes, resting his head in his free hand. He had all his memories; he could tell what his side was. But then David Webb decided to remember that he didn't have all of his memory back.

She was still missing from them, like patches cut out of a quilt design or smudges on a sheet of glass. The only thing he remembered was that first meeting. He had taken to memorizing her face at that point, and still he had not been able to pinpoint any of her emotions, other than something about him had attracted her and her him. It was frustrating. Trying to keep her out of her thoughts, as she had crept into them again, he looking down at what he had started on.

He hadn't made any progress. Written in neat lines across the paper, four lines down, was her name endlessly repeated, like the words in her head. Angry he started to crumple the paper up to start over—and found he couldn't. The sight of him about to crumple up paper that had her name on it struck something in the back of his mind; and no matter how hard he smashed his will into it, he couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. Bourne eventually sighed. He folded it and put it into a coat pocket next to his heart. For some reason he felt like that was where it belonged.

He gave up trying to think of anything else, and so he began to focus on what he would say when he found her. 'Could you tell me you're haunting my dreams and my thoughts are obsessed with you? I kind of don't remember any relationship we may have had, and I was hoping you could fill me in, so that there's a chance we might continue it?' After several minutes of hard thought, Bourne still didn't have much to say, other that asking why he couldn't stop thinking about her. He glanced at his clock, and decided he could work on it tomorrow.

*****

_"I've been having headaches," Bourne muttered, staring down at the ground. He was having one at the moment; his temples felt like they were going to burst on the way driving here. Maybe he would ditch the car and walk home; he could come back for it later. Movement caught his attention, and he glanced up to see her staring intently at him. All of his concentration became focused on her as that indescribable mix of emotions on her face played tricks with his head._

_For a long time, neither spoke, watching the other's facial expressions. It was an attracting experience for him; only the others and Conklin could read how he was standing or looking, and only the others could reply in kind. Nicky was different; she could hold an entire conversation with that captivating face that ensnared the best of his training attempts to restrain himself._

_"Maybe it's stress," Nicky finally said, cutting some of the tension that had risen in the room. Bourne read her face more than her words; she didn't want a nonverbal conversation right now because she was scared of something. To be honest with himself, something was making Bourne uncomfortable._

_He had been seeing her as his handler and psychologist for over a year now. And each time their exchange of expressions made him more…more of a predator, more desirable to hunt. Hunt what, he didn't know; his training didn't let him explore the strange region in his mind. But the desire remained. His attraction to her, to hunt something in her that made her so special, was a powerful force. And perhaps she felt the same thing; there was familiarity to what she felt in her features sometimes. Although he would never admit any of this; he was supposed to be Treadstone's best. And he was…scared to mention it to her._

_"When do you get them the most?" Nicky asked, cutting Bourne out of his reflective trance. He thought back on what the topic had been before. It was difficult; she had such an interesting face, openly willing and eager to listen to what he had to say._

_"When I'm driving," Bourne answered first. He thought little more about it and then opened his mouth to speak again. Nicky's phone went off._

_Bourne leaped to his feet and had the handgun that was always on him out, safety released as he drew it. His body tensed and his adrenaline started to pump. But at a reassuring, relaxing look from his handler, his entire body relaxed. Nicky had nothing to fear; it was her cell phone. Bourne had known it was her cell phone. Why had he reacted so much to it?_

_"Nicky Parsons," Nicky answered. Bourne could hear traces of Conklin's voice on the other line. "What? Yes, he's right here. Sure," Nicky replied after pauses. She turned towards him, and in another nonverbal conversation, all the fear she suddenly felt was known to him, and he was ready to kill; he didn't even care if he was overreacting. "Conklin wants to talk to you," she explained, offering the phone._

_Bourne forced himself to relax. He had to maintain appearances to keep her calm. Underneath, he was churning, already evaluating the room and Nicky's protection. Why was he acting this way? It was distracting towards his training. Watching the windows, doors, and trying not to think about her face, he answered the phone. "Jason Bourne."_

*****

Jason leaped out of bed, hands up in the air and holding a pillow as a weapon. He heard his own phone ringing and relaxed, letting the adrenaline wear out. As he dropped the pillow and reached for his cell phone, he glanced at the clock. It was an hour or so after midnight. That and the fact that only one person had his number, made Bourne satisfied. It was very certain that Landy had the files for him, and was calling him to set up a meeting. Naturally he was already thinking of secluded secure places to talk. And his mind was ringing with the flashback he'd had in his dreams.

He flipped open the phone. "Jason Bourne," he answered, much like he had in the dream. He realized he was preparing to secure the room for Nicky's safety before he knew why. David tried to focus on the fact that it was a flashback, not right now. Nicky was not in any danger, and she was definitely not in the room, looking at him with deep, readable brown eyes for her protection.

The person who answered the phone was not who Jason expected. "West 102nd Street Bridge, thirty minutes. Come armed if you want; I'll be waiting with the rescinding files." Then the phone hung up. Jason recognized the voice even though it had only ever spoken one sentence to him, consisting of six words. It was the asset he had gone up against in Waterloo, in the streets of New York, and who had let him go on the rooftop. For seconds he wondered why he had been contacted by the former asset and not by Landy. But Jason Bourne didn't care; if he could confirm those orders, even through another, then Nicky was safe and he could chase her haunting instead.

Bourne grabbed a coat, loaded a handgun, and walked out of the room, locking it behind him. On his way down the stairs, he thought about the dream he'd had. It took him a moment to realize he was touching the paper with her name written on it endlessly as he was thinking. Had that just been a dream, or was it a returning memory like so many others? If it was, Bourne didn't like it; it was one of Nick in danger. He was absolutely certain of it, even though whatever Conklin had said he couldn't remember. And he had been willing to die then to protect her.

Would he ever, even after he found out why her face and words invaded his mind, be free of her? The more important question was: did he want to be free of her? It was eerily similar to Treadstone. Treadstone had been affecting his health and he had wanted to break free. She was affecting his mental health, and he was wondering if he would be free of her. But what if, instead of being free of her, the thoughts about her became beneficial to his health instead, and he wanted to be enthralled with her face and presence? He wanted to be at the moment, and the loss was hurting him. Would he heal simply seeing her again? How deep had their relationship been during Treadstone? How on earth had Conklin not known?

The bridge loomed ahead. Standing off in a corner, staring down at the water, was the asset from London. He was positioned in a way that relaxed Bourne from reaching from his gun; the asset was assuring him he meant no harm. There may have been a handgun at the asset's hip, but nothing in his posture said he intended to use it. There was a folder in his hands. Bourne walked faster, making a few loud steps so he didn't arrive silently.

The other turned around, half in anticipation, half in reaction to the loud footsteps on the pavement. His posture relaxed when he saw it was Bourne, but he kept his guard up. Bourne did, too, out of habit. They had been trying to kill each other two weeks ago, after all. Still, at least they hadn't attacked each other on sight; it was a start. What Bourne did notice, though, was that the other was struggling with something against how he stood.

They stared at each other for a moment, waiting for some unknown signal to start their conversation. Neither seemed to know what it was, and they didn't make any attempt to discover what it was. The silence built as Bourne studied him. He tried to communicate with his posture, like he had with the Treadstone agents when he was part of the program. But the other seemed unwilling to do so, trying to restrain himself from answering. Was it a conscious or unconscious effort to communicate, or to restrain himself? Bourne might have asked him about it, but he didn't even know his name.

"Jason Bourne," he introduced, holding out a hand tentatively. The London asset glanced around before accepting and shaking it tentatively.

"Paz," he replied. The silence immediately seemed to fall away as whatever key started, allowing the conversation to begin. "Jason Bourne? Not David Webb?"

"I'm Jason with the best of David," Bourne answered. "It's easier that way. Why are you here instead of Landy?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Paz explained. "With words. Using words makes it easier to ignore my Black Briar training." That explained why he was so resistant to talk using posture and stance; he was trying to put Black Briar behind him. Bourne had never thought of that; reading stances had kept him alive since he had been pulled out of the water.

"Why did you want to talk?" Bourne asked. Paz glanced around before speaking, hand brushing the gun he had.

"I wanted to thank you. You could've killed me, but you let me live. Now I get a chance to live like a person."

"You spared me, too."

"That was different. You gave me a new life; I just didn't shoot you. You would've survived anyway. You survived being shot by Vosen. Here's the folder," Paz offered, giving it to Bourne. Bourne accepted it and opened it up, examining the words. He briefly scanned it, as he did a tense knot he'd known about relaxed and his entire body filled with relief. The standing-kill order for him and her was rescinded; her safety was ensured. Now he could find and confront her about why his thoughts were obsessed with her. Finally, he could become the predator and chase this confusion and emotion, instead of the other way around.

"Thank you," Jason thanked. "This means a lot to me." A small silence started to ensue, and Paz suddenly turned around, drawing his weapon. Without hesitation Bourne had his out, too. They both examined their surroundings with scrutiny only known to former CIA assassins. "What do you see?"

"Nothing," Paz admitted, putting his gun away. "I was just getting tense. Are you sure you weren't followed, no one chasing you?"

"No; why?"

"You look…" Paz trailed off as his body language adjusted to mirror Bourne's while he took the other man in. "You look like you've been chased by several agents in the space of a few days, or like somebody's trying to kill you. You're tense and wary, like something's hunting you. You look like you're being hunted into the ground."

Bourne couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was it so obvious in his face and stance? Could Paz, who barely knew him, see that something hunted him and haunted his thoughts every day? Because Bourne, and even David, knew that he was being hunted, only it wasn't by any physical enemy. It was by her words and her face—her incredible, confusing, wonderful face! She stalked him with his memories of her and by the hidden history they might have.

"It's not a person," Bourne assured, "Just memories and thoughts." Paz understood what he meant. Perhaps he was pursued by something as well. "So what will you do?"

"See a psychologist," Paz replied. "I want to straighten myself out. The CIA is offering to make me a consultant, under Landy. That's how I knew about this. What about you?"

"I have my own psychologist," Bourne said, turning to leave.

"It's her, isn't it?"

Bourne's steps froze. Paz didn't move, checking to see whether he had been right or if he'd unleashed a predator. "Your movement mirrors hers a little. She's what's hunting you, isn't she?"

"Her face hunts me. Unknown history hunts me," Bourne muttered over his shoulder. He gripped the folder tightly. "I can't escape her, and I don't know if I want to."

"Good luck with yourself, then," Paz offered awkwardly. Unsure of what to do afterwards, they stood in place. Eventually Paz walked past him, bumping him. Bourne caught the phone he handed him and slipped it into the pocket. He was certain he had an ally. Now to find her. He had been right; he couldn't escape her. But David wanted the word escape changed. Bourne agreed. David wanted to change it to 'live without.' Bourne wasn't sure what to make of it.

He started down the street, already thinking ahead. Her words rang through his head again, and instead of feeling hunted, Bourne felt more alive.


	3. Finding Her

Chapter III

Finding Her

Plane rides were always a source of paranoia for Jason Bourne; they were closed, confined, and were heavily populated. People saw everything on a plane, and everything they didn't see the pilot announced over the intercom. The only escape routes were well watched and using one meant everybody knew where you were. There were no places to hide or run to; there was no chance of avoiding a fight with crew or passengers. It was nearly impossible to carry out an assassination on a plane, and everybody seemed to know if you vanished for a couple seconds before somebody died. Ultimately, Jason Bourne was always nervous and paranoid on plane rides.

David Webb just hated the turbulence and food.

The attendant passed him again, and Bourne continued to fake sleep. Fake sleep was the only sleep he could get. His entire mind seemed to want to stay awake, desperate to not only think of her now, but find her. Ever since he had cleaned down his room and headed for a plane to London, he had wanted to start thinking of her. He was intensely and exhaustingly going through each memory of her, remembering each part of her facial expressions and what she said, at the speed of some of his car chases. What had suddenly motivated him to act so intently was beyond him; perhaps it was just the relief that he was hunting her now, instead of being stalked by her.

He continued to scrutinize his memories. It almost felt as if he was searching for something specific, something he wanted to hunt or chase. But Bourne had no idea what it might be, or what he was after, other than it involved her. Once he found her, it would all make sense: why she haunted his thoughts, why he wanted to stalk her, their history, her words, her face—it would all make sense if he only found her. And both David and Jason wouldn't rest until they did. He felt…wrong when she wasn't nearby. If he wanted to feel whole he needed her and his questions answered. Maybe that was all that was separating David Webb from merging into Jason Bourne was her. He had to find her.

Which wouldn't be difficult in any case; she hadn't changed her fake ID since they'd parted, and for Bourne, a threat here, a bribe there, and he was quickly able to pinpoint her location to London. He was slightly concerned and frustrated with her for not changing her ID; if somebody had been following the kill order they could've tracked her. But at least she had moved around; her false passport had showed up in three places before London. It was an admirable attempt for somebody who had never been on the run before. Yet Bourne knew that if somebody had been trying to kill her, they would've found her as easily as he had. Maybe that was adding to his anxiety on the plane.

He needed to relax. David and Bourne were certain—hopeful, positive—knew that she was safe and sound. And parts of both of them were eager to find her and possibly put an end to the stalking words and faces in his head. It was ironic for him in a way. Bourne couldn't live with it; David didn't want to live without it. David wanted to change the context of the word stalked, though, and so far Bourne was comfortable with it, as long as he didn't feel hunted. In fact, since he had started looking for her, he had felt more alive than he had known. It was an adrenaline rush, butterflies in his stomach, as he comprehended that they were soon about to meet again. What was the cause of these strange emotions, caused by her words and faces in his head, which drew him to her without escape?

Bourne grabbed the travel pillow and thumped it twice to fluff it up. He turned on his side and placed the pillow underneath his head. If he was going to operate properly, he needed to get some sleep. It would be mid morning when he arrived, and he hadn't slept well in the last number of days. Closing his eyes, he focused intently on the black refreshing calm of sleep. Slowly he felt his eyelids start to become heavier, and he sighed in relief. The relief brought a fresh wave of darkness over him as he drifted away. His last thoughts were of Jason Bourne wondering why on earth David Webb had chosen the word 'fluff' to describe his pillow beating. His second to last thought was her face.

*****

_This was awkward. Jason shifted his weight off to one foot and leaned against the wall. The other five could understand what he was saying without trying. Jason Bourne was bored and impatient; he didn't want to be here. One of the other five, Alex, changed how he was standing in response. Bourne was put off by his answer. Alex was bored too, but he was telling him to suck it up. Still, it's not like Bourne had expected a pitying response; he wasn't going to get one from the other top assassins of Treadstone. He was only stating what the others plainly thought and felt; he tended to do that a lot._

_They were waiting in the living room of a safe house, waiting impatiently for Conklin and Nicky to arrive. Apparently Conklin had some new protocol regarding reporting in after a successful mission, and he wanted to tell them all at once, without having to track them down. The top six of them were there, ahead of schedule like usual and waiting for him to show up. Abruptly the Professor stroked his temples and gave a universal glare. He had gotten one of their spontaneous headaches and didn't want anyone to bother him with anything. Somebody changed stance to agree with his dislike of the migraines and how random they were. Bourne got them, too, but they were all certain that none of them got as badly as the Professor._

_Out of boredom Bourne looked up at Castel, who was slouched against the wall in a deadly-seeming pose, watching the other five lazily. He was also closest to the door. That marked him as the alpha male of the assassins, the best of them. When Conklin got there, he was to be the closest to him, and so on in order of pack rank. Bourne knew he was better than Castel, and he was certain some of the others knew as well, but being the top assassin didn't interest him much. Conklin was stressful enough as it was. So Castel kept the title, and Bourne let him think he was the best. Second was good enough at the moment; for the most part the assassins got along decently. They would rather be in different spots, but they were good at tolerating each other._

_Footsteps caught all of their attention as what had to be Conklin and Nicky approached the door. Who else would willingly to a house full of the world's best assassins? Not anyone who would be living much longer. Castel stood up straight and the others, Bourne included, followed suit. The Professor grabbed a bottle of Tylenol off the desk as he did. He probably intended to take it with him. Nobody's stance seemed to care at all. They would probably buy a bottle on their ways home._

_For some reason he couldn't fathom, Bourne was pleased to be seeing Nicky again; she had been the handler for the six of them for five weeks. And each time they met, Bourne felt the same unusual attraction, the urge to find out what was so interesting. And he was going to, eventually. She was interesting. He also held the secret that she was interested in him in some form. Of course, none of it was reflected in how he stood. The others would tear him apart for weakness and forgetting his training. And she would likely be removed, something Bourne didn't want. He enjoyed her as his psychologist; something about her face was…appealing._

_The door opened, and Conklin walked in, followed by Nicky. They entered into the room where the agents were, coming into a wide view of the room with plenty of space to maneuver. It was interesting, Bourne thought, to see their reactions to the room; Conklin was used to the unspoken hierarchy of the agents, and he didn't interfere with it. Nicky, however, had never seen all of them at once, like she was now. It was humorous—and concerning—to Bourne how she acted, in complete ignorance and disregard of the assassin hierarchy; she only knew that very powerful and dangerous people were in the room. She knew she was in a room where moving the wrong way was a death wish, but she wasn't aware that the danger got much worse. Hopefully she'd eventually learn, for her sake._

_Then Bourne became aware of Castel's stance. It disgusted him immediately, and he was surprised to find he was changing his stance to disgust and anger. The Professor, fingering his stolen bottle of Tylenol, was even looking the other way, agreeing with Bourne on this matter. Alexander looked resigned but put off at the same time. Castle didn't care what they were putting off; he was standing in a way that suggested things of Nicky. It infuriated Bourne. Castel was claiming her as his toy, in front of the others. He would not stand for that if his life depended on it. Bourne had some sort of emotion towards Nicky—what it was, he didn't know. But he knew that he would not let her be some toy for Castle, of all people. To do that, she would have to be his property. He had trouble thinking like that; he just wanted to find the secrets that lurked in the expressions of her face and made her so attracting to him. But if it was him or Castel…_

_While Conklin was speaking about the protocol, Bourne moved. He stepped forward, past Castel, and leaned against the wall in his own deadly stance. The other agents nearly jerked in response. Not only had Bourne moved further than Castel, he was closer to Nicky, and he was obviously putting out in his stance: No; she's not your toy. She's with me, or I'll kill you. Castel looked ready to kill. He had blatantly and willingly broken the chain of command, challenging Castel for the alpha male spot, the top assassin acknowledgment. There was no way this would end peacefully, and Bourne hoped it didn't. His attraction to her would not let her be Castel's toy._

_Conklin actually stopped in the middle of his explanation to take in the brief, unspoken challenged that had all at once changed the tension to dangerous. Nicky appeared only slightly aware that the mood was more dangerous; she didn't even seem to realize that she was the cause. Bourne felt like reprimanding and pitying her at the same time. The Professor exchanged a stance with Alexander on who would be top assassin. Bourne didn't see Alex's reply. Feeling the tension, Conklin hurried through the rest of the protocol. Luckily, his cell phone ringed. He started to answer it and hesitated; leaving Nicky here, he knew, would be dangerous. He called her upstairs with him to 'do Logistics.' They headed upstairs. The Professor popped four Tylenol pills as they went, interested in the challenge. The other agents had eyes on Bourne and Castel, who were sending each other threats in stances. This would decide their social order for a long time._

_As soon as the upstairs door clicked shut, Castel pulled out his gun and aimed it at Bourne. Bourne had been expecting the fight. He caught Castel by the wrist flipped him over his shoulder, the gun being ripped from Castel's hand in the process. As Castel rolled away to get to his feet, Bourne threw the gun down the hall. He would take Castel with his hands; guns never worked that well in close quarters. Castel came for him._

_Castel swung at Bourne. Bourne leaned back to dodge it, and then to the right to dodge another swing. Castel followed through by kicking his leg back and around at Bourne's head. Bourne ducked beneath the kick and jammed his elbow into the side of Castel's knee. Castel didn't make a grunt but brought his own elbow down on Bourne. Bourne let himself sink with the impact and made a sweep with his leg, bringing Castel down to the same level on the ground. From there, they dived at each other._

_Swinging for Bourne's gut, Castel left his kidney open. Bourne punched him there and then jammed his head into Castel's spine. Castel brought his foot over his back and kicked Bourne in the head. Bourne rolled away and got to his feet. Castel leaped to his feet, murderous intent in his eyes. Why had Bourne defied the social order again? Was his interest in Nicky that strong or worth it? Then he remembered the look Nicky always gave him. She was definitely worth it. Castel picked up a stapler off the desk next to the Professor. He opened it, leaving the bottom flapping open, and came at Bourne. _

_Bourne ducked beneath the swinging stapler and struck Castel in the stomach. Castel brought the stapler down and stapled into Bourne's right shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Bourne grabbed a wand lighter and jammed it up into Castel's wrist. It tore skin and blood vessel. As he stabbed at Castel's wrist, Bourne head-butted him in the nose. Castel stumbled. Bourne knocked the stapler out of his hand as he did and used the handle of the wand lighter on Castel's neck. Then he kicked Castel's feet out from under him and Castel fell onto his back._

_Without hesitation Bourne was kneeling over him, wand lighter thrown off to the side. Nicky's face was embedded in his memory now: he could nearly feel the strange, hunting emotion she created him. Whatever it was, there was no chance he would let Castel make her a toy. Grabbing the other agent by the throat, Bourne began delivering punch after punch to Castel's head, making him bleed profusely. He was going to leave beyond a doubt that Nicky was off-limits._

_A gun cocked and every agent jumped. Conklin was standing in the hallway, gun loaded and pointed at the two fighters. All six of them, including the spectators, had been so focused on the fight they hadn't heard him come back downstairs. How long had he been there? "Get up, soldiers," Conklin ordered. They did so, Bourne continuing to stand in front of Castel. "What is wrong with you? This is an operation, not a damn boxing ring. From now on, no more fighting for social status. Got it soldiers?"_

_"Yes sir," Bourne answered for them. Conklin met each of their eyes to make sure they would. He then called Nicky down and they left. Bourne relaxed his stance to let the others know they could leave. Castel was the first to leave, making sure through posture to let Bourne know he accepted him as the new alpha male. However, he also made it clear he would kill Bourne the next time they fought. The others left eventually as well, acknowledging him as the top assassin. Alex even paused to pull the stapler out of his new leader's shoulder._

_There never was another fight between him and Castel; the matter was closed. However, the next day Bourne discovered that Nicky was now his personal psychologist and handler._

*****

Bourne jumped awake as the pilot announced that they had landed. He checked the time; they had arrived at the airport fifteen minutes after schedule. Trying to shake himself, Bourne focused on what was real and what was part of the dream. It had been another dream flashback, to his days during Treadstone again. Nicky was barely in it, but he had not remembered it until now. Why was that? Because, Bourne answered, he had fought to mark her as his. His what?

Neither David Webb nor Jason Bourne had an answer as he left the plane. It was obvious that he had had the same attraction now as he did in his memories; what he needed to know was why, what it was, and if that was what made it so hard for her. How had that been hard for her? Was it because he had fought to become top assassin to mark her as belonging to him? What did marking her entail to him? Had he done it only because of the strange hunting feeling, and because of her mysterious expression?

He left the plane, his heart starting to speed up. The predatorily hunting sense in his stomach spiraled like he had butterflies. What was she doing to him? For some reason, as he was took a cab, he knew where to go? Was her invasion of his thoughts doing something else to him other than driving him mad? As the taxi stopped, and Bourne found himself standing outside an apartment, he suddenly felt panicked. There was no explanation for why he felt the way he did. Curse the strange hunted sensation her face made in his thoughts.

It took will to knock on the door. His hunter sense was wild, eager for something…but what was he hunting? The door opened; Bourne took a quicker breath than usual. It opened the rest of the way to show Nicky Parsons standing in front of him. Her breath caught as his did. It was released in one word.

"Nicky."


	4. The Predator's Hunger

Chapter IV

The Predator's Hunger

"Nicky."

The word delivered a powerful blast of emotion and feeling to her. Since she heard of his 'disappearance' after Black Briar was publicized, she had been preparing for this day, the day when he would return and find her. And yet, after everything she had thought of, what she had planned to do when he came, she found herself caught thoughtless at the sound of her name emanated from his lips. She had known that inevitably he would find himself here, because she had felt the attraction pick up again, after all these years. She had never forgotten it, but now he had remembered. And everything she had expected to deal had conveniently left her thoughts, leaving her standing in the doorway with him standing there.

"Do," she struggled, trying to bring words to the forefront. For some reason, knowing that the attraction was increasing, her mouth was having trouble speaking. His influence was much stronger than she had expected. "Do you want to come in?" He only nodded; he stood like he was in pain. Not physical pain, although he likely had that, as well. He was in emotional and mental pain. Something was bothering him so badly it was plainly open in his expression. He had never shown such pain in his posture before. Was his memory of before returned, and was that what was causing him to suffer so terribly?

Backing up, she moved to allow him into the apartment. There was a pained, desperate flow to his movements as he took in the small, crowded, messy apartment. Despite whatever pain he was in, his eyes didn't miss a detail in the main room of the small-two room dwelling. He even paused to take in the smell of her coffee, sitting on the kitchen counter. But the smell seemed only to imbue him with more pain. She didn't know how to act; she was enthralled and frightened by his presence at the same time, compassionate and leery of the pain he felt. He continued to stand there, unsure of what to do. She started to move past him, trying to think of something to comfort him.

Did or did he not know why he was here? On some small level, was he in pain because of the attraction or because his subconscious thought he was betraying Marie? He had been with her for a long time, and it was obvious that he thought of her afterward; she had been the reason he'd gotten back into the game after Conklin's death. And she knew from CIA intelligence he'd gone to apologize to Marie's brother. Did he felt guilty about visiting her now? If that was the reason, Nicky wasn't sure what to do. If it wasn't, perhaps then he was in pain much like he had been before.

She tried to do something to comfort him. "Do you want something to drink, J—" Nicky caught herself. She had nearly called him Jason. But what if he had denied that part of him and was more David Webb? Perhaps that was the reason he was in pain; he was trying to close off Jason Bourne and be David Webb. She had never known him as David Webb. She hadn't even known his real name until lately. She had met him as assassin Jason Bourne. Nicky Parson had no place in David Webb's world, only Bourne's. Her heart inwardly started to die.

"Bourne," he said quietly, his words barely touching the stifling silence that was enveloping the room. At his words, Nicky felt her pulse race and her heart beat with renewed energy. He had said quite clearly—both verbally and through posture—he would rather be called Bourne. That had to mean that Bourn had at least some part still in his life, and that he wasn't closing off that part of him. This meant that possibly she still had some hope to be in his life. The rest of him was easy to read; he didn't want anything to drink, and his pain was increasing. He had the desperate, stalked, hunting look in his eye. Bourne was searching for something to quell the pain, desperately trying to complete and end the puzzle, but he didn't know what.

"I…" Bourne began uncomfortably, searching for what he wanted. It was rare when he spoke what he was feeling; he usually exhibited it through stance. Nicky felt herself hanging on every breath and word that he uttered; a little desperation of her own was manifesting itself in her. "I…I can't stop thinking about you." The words hung deeply in the tense, stifling atmosphere. Nicky felt pained and exhilarated at the same time, uncomfortably aware of the two ways this could go in. He was in so much pain, it was nearly unbearable and heartbreaking just to see him like this.

"You creep into my thoughts and I can't help but let you," he muttered frantically trying to make sense of what he was feeling. He felt more hunted and stalked than he had ever before. It was supposed to stop being like this when he found her. He had found her now, but instead of going away, it had increased. Bourne's predator instincts were wild, feral, hunting with more desperation that he thought possible. But what was he hunting? He couldn't make sense of how he was feeling, and neither personality, Bourne or David, could accurately explained just how badly Nicky was tearing him apart inside.

The worst of part it was that she was making the exact same face that she had always made, the face that haunted him. She was reflecting back some of what he was feeling and her own feelings as well. He hadn't known he was in that much pain, or that she was either. But just seeing her face sent her words spiraling around his mind and he felt close to slipping. Slipping into what, he had no idea. But he was certain his control over something was slipping. It was painful, being so close to her and not having what he hunted. He didn't even know what he hunted.

"I feel like I'm _obsessed_ with you. You're intoxicating me and my thoughts," Bourne tried to explain, stepping closer. "I can't help but feel hunted and chased by your face at night." He felt addicted, while not at all certain what about her was so addicting. Her smell reached his nostrils, again, like it had when he had smelled the coffee. She smelled so nice, it was thought-stopping. It certainly increased his predator's senses. Bourne was close to slipping into something and David didn't know what to do.

Then Bourne noticed she had a lock of hair out of place, lying on her forehead. The feelings and knots in his stomach suddenly became pushed aside as Bourne was distracted by the lock of hair on her forehead. The David Webb he was integrating in himself was frustrated. Here they were, so close to discovering why she haunted him and drove him, and the assassin was distracted a lock of hair. What was so important about it? Stay focused. However, focusing became increasingly difficult as one of his headaches came back in force at the sight of the lock.

*****

…_Bourne forced himself to relax. He had to maintain appearances to keep her calm. Underneath, he was churning, already evaluating the room and Nicky's protection. Why was he acting this way? It was distracting towards his training. Watching the windows, doors, and trying not to think about her face, he answered the phone. "Jason Bourne."_

_"Bourne," Conklin said, "Remember your latest assignment?" Bourne didn't answer; he knew Conklin already knew he did. Why did it matter? He had completed his mission excellently, even convincing the target's party the target had died in a car crash. "They didn't fall for it, and they've now stumbled onto Treadstone."_

_The alpha male assassin already knew what Conklin was about to say. His hand immediately had his handgun loaded and pointed at the windows and door. Nicky ducked down behind her desk. Bourne's head was coming up with different escape routes and situational tactics, how many this specific group might have sent. He wasn't expecting Conklin's words. "They're not coming for you, Bourne. They know too well what would happen right now. I'm sending the Professor to take care of their new leader. You are to escort Nicky to the nearest Treadstone safe house; keep her safe. You have the green light on anyone who follows you."_

_"Yes sir," Bourne answered before he could take in the rest of Conklin's words. They were coming for Nicky? What had she done to them? It was he who had killed their leader. His eyes darted quickly to Nicky, whose eyes met his. A silent conversation spilled between them, and Bourne could tell that she was scared. She didn't know why she was scared, or that she was even a target at the moment. She was just scared, and she was looking to him for answers and security. His predator awoke, and the strange hunting feeling returned. It no longer mattered who was after Nicky; he would kill them and/or stop them, just as he had Castel nearly a year ago._

_"Get to it, soldier," Conklin ordered, and hung up. Bourne tossed Nicky's phone back to her and moved to check the windows. He pulled his silencer out of his pocket and attached it to his handgun. Nothing was going to get past him. Training was already telling him what to do. Bourne moved to check the door next. Nicky slowly stood up. He turned around found himself looking at her face. A long second passed as she read his face and he examined hers. Her expression went from alarmed to scared to reassured before it finally rested on trusting him. A slew of other emotions were there, but Bourne had neither time to examine them or the ability. His own hunter instinct was increasing, and it did so more when he grabbed her by the arm just above the elbow._

_"This way," Bourne ordered quietly as they headed for the door. Just as he expected, the door burst open. Without blinking Bourne raised his gun and shot. The would-be attacker dropped dead as the bullet struck him in the head. As they walked past him, Bourne shot him twice in the chest to make sure he was dead. He glanced at Nicky as they headed toward the stairs; she looked a little sick. He wondered if she had ever seen someone die before. He knew she had seen bodies, but never if she had seen them die. Now she had. For some reason he felt guilty._

_But then his training kicked in as did his hunting feeling. Now was not the time to be distracted. It was seven blocks to the safe house, and they would be going in the darkness of night. It was an advantage and disadvantage at the same time. They headed down the stairs, Bourne not releasing his grip on her arm. Nicky looked worried and yet confused as to why he held her so. They exited the building, and Bourne stopped. He raised his gun and fired; a gunman dropped dead from on top of a roof. He could almost feel Nicky's shock as his gun thwacked twice, killing the assassin she had never seen._

_They continued down the street, Bourne's head spiraling with his training and the attraction to her. He felt a headache begin to arise from the incredible thinking power he was putting forward. It was the last thing he needed. It didn't help him at all when he noticed how close her proximity was to him. Bourne needed to focus, not be distracted by this powerful, confusing attraction. Otherwise Nicky might end up dead. That thought, imbued with everything he was thinking about, put both behind his objective._

_Down a street a car screeched as it came towards them. Bourne was frustrated; they were only two blocks down the street, too far to hide. It was infuriating that a parking lot was just ahead. A gunman stuck his weapon out the window and shot as Bourne yanked on Nicky's arm, pulling her behind him. The fresh, hot, burning pain entered his shoulder as he took the bullet for her. Sparing only a tight breath, he aimed with both hands and shot their tires. The car squealed as it headed for a lamp post and crashed into it, driver unable to keep control with two tires flat._

_His shoulder in tight pain, Bourne turned a corner, heading towards a club instead of the safe house. He shared a glance with Nicky. She could read his pain and also some of what his concerned thoughts were. He saw her fear and concern for him. She shouldn't be; she was the one in danger. Then she finished reading his pose and understood his plan. They headed faster for the club, Bourne's grip on her arm remaining._

_He had his gun hidden in his pocket as they reached the entrance. For appearances sake, he let go of her. With the casual tip of three hundred dollars, the bouncer let them pass the line and head in. Once inside, Bourne's training was calculating. The club was full of people, and it would be impossible to find or even kill someone here. That was exactly what he wanted. He led Nicky off to the side through a hallway. He glanced behind him, and his training informed him of the two men who had entered the club after them. He had little time._

_Bourne turned into a hallway which turned out to be a dead end; it was just a bathroom. He looked around, already reaching for the gun. Instincts told him the men were very close and approaching the hall. He took in their surroundings; from where they stood only their shadows could be seen from outside the hall, but if the men entered it…_

_Training instincts and attraction merged again. Bourne faced Nicky, who was emanating fear but trust at the same time. A lock of hair was out of place on her forehead. "Do you trust me?" he asked._

_"With what?" she replied back softly. Bourne could nearly see the men through the wall._

_"Do you just trust me?" he asked again, a bit more urgent. Nicky's face put off a flurry of emotion before she nodded. He flicked the lock of hair back in place. Then he pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply, wrapping his arms around her. One eye, struggling to stay open, saw the shadows of the killers. They stared at his and Nicky's shadow before passing on…_

*****

"Bourne?" The voice seemed slightly distant to him, through fogged memories becoming clear. First things first, though: Bourne tried to focus what he was doing. He realized one hand was gripping a counter, knuckles turning white as he held onto it for support. The other was pressed tightly against his forehead, trying to shove away the receding headache. Finally all of his senses returned and Bourne knew where he was. He was in Nicky's apartment; she was standing next to him with a fearful look spread across her face. It changed to relief when he appeared fine and stood up straight, breaths coming in more natural and smooth.

Bourne was not fine, though; he felt even more pained and hunted. He had answers, but not all of them. Somewhere, back during Treadstone, he had felt this same hunting desire, and he realized it had been satisfied at one point. Pieces were being set in place. Bourne wasn't addicted to her face and words; she wasn't haunting his thoughts and invading his mind. He wasn't obsessed with her. He was going through a lack of her, began when his memories returned in New York and his mind had remembered being satisfied in some way. He wasn't hunting something as much as he wanted something. He needed something.

But what was it that he wanted so badly, it was causing him pain? What could he be deprived of that was causing him to feel hunted, stalked by the most powerful of enemies? He focused on what he was seeing. Nicky Parsons stood a step away from him. Bourne's thoughts froze in place before working faster. He knew exactly who haunted it and pained him; he knew who he was addicted to, and he knew without a doubt who we wanted. He knew that had a history together, and that his lack of her is what haunted him. The only question that remained is what he wanted of her.

His eyes caught on the lock of hair that was out of place. David Webb and Jason Bourne knew what she could give him.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but he found her chin cupped within his hand and his lips pressed against hers with his free hand holding her close. She felt startled and then content as her arms slid up to take hold of his face. It was a surprise—and yet not—to find how perfectly her body and lips melded to his own. It filled him with euphoria when she began to return the kiss.

Like he had blown apart a dam, all of the tension he'd been feeling—the hunted feeling, her invasion of his thoughts, her endless repeat of her words and face in his dreams, the pain, the hunting, the desperation—gushed out and left him, leaving him only wanting. And he wanted, taking her in as she returned his desire and need. The explosive feeling continued as Bourne and Nicky took all each other had to offer. He never wanted to stop.

It was almost regretful for Bourne and David when Bourne realized there was an assassin in the room.


	5. Feud Resurfaced

Chapter V

Feud Resurfaced

It was just his luck that there was somebody there to kill them, now of all times. Just when he had finally completed himself, and had Nicky in his arms, the CIA was there to screw up his life again. Maybe he was destined to be hounded, because of what he'd done, or maybe it was only when he found peace and love in life. Still, he would have let her go and deal with this new threat to her. Jason Bourne found it ironic that it was likely the only thing that would've convinced him to stop. David Webb would've preferred another way.

Letting go of Nicky, he shoved her back with one hand onto the couch and with the other brought a fist down on the assassin's wrist, deflecting the knife. His whole attention was diverted to the assassin now; Jason Bourne took complete control as the assassin took a step back to take in the new situation. What was surprising to him was that the assassin, his cover blown, looked as though he was decided whether to run or not; since when did CIA assassins run? But David Webb urged him on; this man had wanted to kill Nicky. Jason Bourne willingly agreed to hold no bars; either the man had broken the order or Landy had failed. But the most important fact was that Nicky was threatened again.

Only a second had passed. Then Bourne struck. He shoved his whole body into the assassin, who tried to repel it with a flick of the knife. Bourne's hand snaked out and caught the man's wrist. He spun the man by his wrist and slammed him into the wall. Pinning him with his weight Bourne head-butted his nose and then stomped on the man's foot. A shout of pain got out as Bourne knocked the knife out of his hand. His shout was cut when Bourne elbowed him.

He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the wall again. David Webb was glorifying in the violent retribution for disturbing him and Nicky and threatening them. But Bourne was confused; this was far too easy. There was no way this could be the CIA. He pressed down on the man's throat in a certain way, doubtlessly hurting him. He elicited a groan before letting up. "Who sent you?" Bourne demanded. Behind him, he could sense Nicky getting, as confused as he was. But he was certain that she was scared. He pressed the spot again. "I said who sent you?!"

The man made a grunt of pain before answering. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said. Bourne wouldn't take that for an answer. He pressed harder on the spot for longer. The man groaned loudly in pain. Both of his personalities were eager to hurt him.

Bourne tried the question again. "Tell me who sent you!"

"Don't remember, do you killer?" the man jested. Bourne's headache started to return as his memory attempted to piece together who was attacking them. His concentration slipped just a little, and that was all that the assassin needed. He kneed Bourne in the groin and then struck him in the jaw. Bourne staggered back and his rage renewed itself. As the man reached for a weapon inside his jacket, he realize that he was dead. Bourne smiled coldly as he read the other's stance.

In a flash of motion Bourne struck him in the nose again with an elbow. While the other reeled he kicked hard right above the man's knee, breaking it. The assassin screamed pain. Bourne shoved into a wall edge and then threw his weight against the man's arm. The arm snapped against the edge of the wall. Before the man could even renew his excruciating scream, Jason Bourne picked up a nearby boom box and slammed it into the man's head, knocking him out. The man slouched onto the floor, broken and unconscious. It wasn't enough for Bourne and David; he had broken his healing with Nicky and threatened her. He whipped out his gun to finish him.

"Wait," Nicky said, touching Bourne hesitantly on the shoulder, fearful that he might react without knowing. For Bourne such a reaction could never exist. He turned slowly to face her, caught up in the heat of combat and the killer assassin persona Jason Bourne. But at the sight of her face, Jason Bourne relaxed as David Webb examined the face of the person he needed. Nicky didn't want to remember death following the memory of her kiss with her. She was scared, not only by the assassin, but by his abrupt volatile reaction to the killer. Guilt flooded him again; he had promised not to terrify her again, but he had. And this time he hadn't even pointed a gun towards her.

His face softened as he read the rest of what she had to say. For a moment they met each other's eyes, exchanging their thoughts and fears. Bourne lowered the handgun and eventually put it away. "It's not safe here. Landy didn't get the order rescinded," Bourne finally spoke, bringing them back to their current threat. He wasn't going to stand around and sit while Nicky was in danger. He had his life to give for hers, but if he died and left her in a dangerous spot then she would die anyway. He couldn't allow that.

Nicky looked down at the unconscious man. "He's not from Treadstone or Black Briar," she noted, her expression changing. Frowning, Bourne looked back at the body. His memory triggered; he knew the man. Not directly, but he knew who he was with and why he was here. It was ironic in a way, David Webb noted. He had come for Nicky and discovered his relationship with her through a memory in which the organization he targeted had come after him for revenge. And here was the same organization here to kill them again. Bourne began forming escape routes out of the city; they needed to get out of here.

"He's not CIA," Bourne muttered. "He's Italian Mafia." He looked back at Nicky's face. His thoughts were laid bare before her as he took in what she had to express. She gave him the same look that had been previously haunting him: fear, longing, and trust. He wanted to but there was no time to explain at the moment; there might be more men coming soon. He tried to express how important it was to leave London. She understood, but he could tell she was more frightened as well. His heart, David Webb, tugged. Running his hand through her hair, he kissed her on the forehead and whispered, "Trust me." She felt calmer. David Webb urged him to take her again, to fulfill the hunger he still felt from kissing her, but Bourne needed to get them out.

They headed for the front door. Bourne opened it and took Nicky by the arm, his other hand on his gun. "Where's your car?" Bourne asked quietly. Perhaps it was the similarity of the situation, that they had shared a passionate embrace, or her familiarity with working with him, but Nicky was acting calmer now.

"I usually take a taxi or walk," Nicky replied. Bourne's mind scrambled to find an alternate vehicle. He spotted what he was after and they began to walk down the sidewalk. As they did, Bourne's instincts came to life; they were being watched. His grip on his gun tightened. They walked faster towards the crosswalk. Paying no heed to the traffic waiting for the light to turn green, Bourne led Nicky into the street towards a taxi. The driver was thankfully not carrying passengers; that would make it easier to 'borrow' the taxi. He wondered if he would ever be involved with a taxi that didn't end up being stolen or the driver running away from him.

He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the driver, stating. "I need your car." The driver's reaction was far different from what he expected.

"You…" the driver said half in shock, half in awe. "You're David Webb, the CIA agent everyone calls Jason Bourne. You're…you're here…" How on earth the man could recognize him meant that the coverage of Black Briar had been highly public, and that the media was trying to crack open the personal history belonging to Jason Bourne. But he could deal with this later.

"It's Bourne. I don't have time; get out," Jason ordered. Slowly like he was dreaming, the cab driver got out. Nicky got in on the other side and Bourne climbed in the driver's seat. He shut the door and slammed down on the gas; the cab took off with tires squealing. The cab driver watched, still in shock Jason Bourne had taken _his_ cab, as Bourne ran the light. What surprised the driver more was when two black vehicles pulled out from the intersecting road and took after him.

Inside the taxi, Bourne was recalling roads and streets. "How many are behind us?" he asked Nicky. Nicky glanced out the back window before giving him one of her piercing, open looks. Bourne gritted his teeth. Adrenaline started to enter his system as his training recognized a car chase. He sped up. Ahead the light started to turn yellow. Bourne took it in and started to coast. Nicky looked at him in surprise; this was not Bourne to slow down for a light.

As they reached the light, Bourne slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel. The taxi screeched as it swung 180 degrees into the other lane. One of the two mafia cars couldn't stop and went into the intersection; it was struck on both sides, creating a mess of traffic. Bourne slammed on the gas pedal and the taxi took off the way it came, passing the second mafia car that was trying to slow down. Nicky released her grip on the chair; that was more like Bourne to pull a stunt like that. She found him smiling slightly at her obvious fright on her face. She sent him an expression that said if he did that for humor, she didn't enjoy.

Bourne's face grew serious as they drifted into an intersecting road. He wasn't trying to be funny; he was more focused on getting away. Nicky stopped looking at him to be less of a distraction. Within minutes her life was once again turned upside down, courtesy to Jason Bourne. There were few dull moments when Bourne was nearby, whether it was escaping enemies or something more intimate. Her body ached to be that close again, to be wrapped in his embrace with his lips pressed against hers… She shook herself; she needed to pay attention to what was going on, especially as Bourne pulled into a roundabout.

The car drifted in circles around the turnabout lane. Bourne didn't even look like he was paying attention to an exit. "Keep your head down and brace yourself," he told her. Nicky knew better than to hesitate with Bourne said. She ducked down as Bourne reached for his gun. Just over the edge of her window, she saw what he was about to do; they were drifting right towards the mafia car, which was entering the turnabout. The two cars slammed into each other, and Nicky hid her face again as metal crunched and her window shattered.

The cars grinded together, and she heard the distinctive sound of gunfire ring in her ears as Bourne fired into the other car. Only three shots went off; she wondered whether he'd shot one man three times or three men each. With him, it could be either one. The groaning of steel stopped as Bourne ended the drift and drove off, leaving the Mafia car behind. He didn't relent on his speed, though.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Nicky accepted that as allowance to sit back up. She did so and nodded in response to his question. The sound of gunshots was still ringing in her ears, and her body was racing after the impact. She put a hand over her heart to feel the beat and to try to slow it down. Her movements weren't lost on Bourne, whose face softened with guilt and sorrow. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She let him know she didn't blame him, and his regular expression slowly returned. "I've never been in a crash before," she explained. Bourne seemed to understand; the man had been in countless crashes. She remembered seeing some of the footage from his chases in Moscow and New York; it made her cringe and wince in fear and worry of what he was doing to himself. Come to think of it, he had fallen off of the building only a couple weeks ago; didn't he still have marks to show from that? Knowing Bourne, he might not have even bothered to take the bullet out if it hadn't gone through.

They both heard shots hit the back of the taxi, and Bourne let the pedal drop all the way. Nicky glanced behind them; the car they'd just smashed into was after them again; someone else was likely driving. Then they heard the sound of sirens. Bourne's face hardened; this was more than he wanted to deal with. Nicky secretly agreed, but didn't express it. Bourne needed his attention ahead and on what he was doing. Her body still ached for him.

Bourne told Nick to put her head back down as more gun shots stung the air. One managed to strike the taxi's back left tire, and he put his gun away to give him more control of the wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the car right behind them in the mirror. It bumped them hard. Bourne jerked, and the gun he was trying to put away dropped out of his pocket and onto the floor. He gritted his teeth. "The gun's under the brake pedal," he grunted.

Wordlessly Nicky put her head on his leg while she reached for it. As she was grabbing hold of it, Jason Bourne and David Webb became awkwardly aware of her position to him. It was distracting as he felt the heat of her face pour into his leg. Jason hoped she would hurry up so he could focus on getting them out alive, while David hoped the gun was stuck. Nicky seemed aware as well, because her cheeks flushed as she finally got the handgun out. She handed it back to him and sat back normally, face turned a faint pink. He would have loved to take in her expression, but the mafia car rammed them again. This time he kept his grip on the gun.

"Hold the wheel and head straight," Bourne ordered. Nicky grabbed the wheel from where she was as Bourne twisted in his seat. Using his hand and the seat as a platform, he aimed for the driver and fired. His single shot struck the man in the forehead. Their driver hung over the wheel, and his body weight turned it; the mafia car made a sharp swerve into an oncoming car. Bourne turned back around and took the wheel back. He wouldn't like to be in that crash.

He stopped the car a block from the train station. They got out and Bourne stashed his gun back in his pocket. Taking his familiar grip of Nicky's arm, they headed for the train station. He calculated how far off the sirens were; they might be on the train before the police arrived. Bourne recognized the train station: Waterloo. No doubt with his disruption and countless ran lights, the CIA would be wondering what he was up to now. They would have to take the hard way to a train.

Bourne read the leaving/boarding sign as they entered. He began to weave a way through the cameras, ensuring that they wouldn't be seen. At one point, he was forced to cross in front of a camera, but he kept his face down; they shouldn't be able to recognize that. They stopped at a hat store to buy a scarf and fedora; he placed them on Nicky to keep her hidden from the cameras. She gave him the look again as he did; he tried to give him a trusting reassurance posture in reply. They headed out of the store and back to weaving among cameras.

With little difficulty they got onto a train and sat down at a table. It got moving well before the sirens reached the station. He released a breath and let his adrenaline go down, leaving him tired. It was always like this after each chase, each confrontation or fight. Rather that summarize what happened, he turned his attention to Nicky. They exchanged a silent conversation before Nicky spoke this time. She placed a hand on his, sending tingling up his arm and warming his blood.

"What's going on?" she asked. Bourne glanced around at the car and then back to her.

"They're back again," he muttered.

*****

"Pam, we have a problem," Pam's assistant said, standing in her office doorway. She looked up at him from what she was doing. Her fears were confirmed when Paz showed up behind him. She sighed and rubbed her temples before turning back up to them. Paz's face revealed nothing, but his presence did.

"Get the team up and running," Pam ordered. "Paz, just in case, start thinking like Bourne." Paz nodded and left soundlessly. She organized what she had been doing in a neat pile before looking back up at her assistant. "What's the situation this time?"

"The new director wants to know what Bourne's up to," her assistant explained. The director wanted to know; that made it worse. She grabbed her file on Bourne and walked with her assistant to their operations room.

"Fill me in."


	6. What Bourne Wants to Do

Chapter VI

What Bourne Wants to Do

"All right people, let's wake up," Landy ordered, walking into her team's room. "We're going after Bourne again." There was a collective sigh around the room, one that Landy secretly shared. It seemed that they were always after Bourne. She was more than ready to go after somebody else than the world's best assassin. While tracking him was a challenge, and Landy enjoyed a good challenge, it was becoming repetitive. They would never find him except where he slipped up—which was small—or unless he let them find them. Otherwise they were always left looking at his footprints.

"We don't want him, specifically," Landy continued. "We want to know what he's thinking. Why is he doing what he's doing? So everyone listen to Paz and get your gears moving. Now." She nodded to Paz, who stepped forward. He seemed to be saying something with every little movement; why else did he stand so strangely? But she could as soon interpret it as she could hold the upper edge against Jason Bourne. Who's to say how good Paz was, too: he'd held his own against the other in a car chase and escaped him at Waterloo. Paz was without doubt much more dangerous than he appeared. But then, so were any of the former CIA assassins.

"The situation: One man with two broken limbs in an apartment that had been rented to Nicolette Parsons under a persona, two totaled cars along the streets to Waterloo. Bourne took them out. Look for why. He doesn't start fights; he finishes. Discover the identities, find why they want Bourne dead, and you'll know what he'll do about it," Paz muttered in straight monotone. People took in what he said as they typed away, researching the man who was admitted to the hospital and the IDs of the deceased. Landy watched over them, occasionally asking them to bring something up on the front windows. Paz was silent, looking at Waterloo cameras. Pam thought he was outsmarted this time; they had already run them against new computer recognition programs. He needed to be thinking like Bourne.

"You," Landy said, pointing out one analyst. "What was that?" The analyst went back a few screens. "What's this right here?" she asked again, pointing at his bank account.

"He had a separate account in Switzerland, ma'am," the analyst noted. "He made withdrawals to pay for a plane ticket."

"Check his ID," Landy ordered. The analyst did so, bringing it up on the screen. She and her assistant looked at it. Assuming that this wasn't a false ID, the man lived and worked out of Italy. Her assistant swore. "What?"

"This isn't good," her assistant muttered. "Run this man against any known terrorist watch lists." Sure enough, the man came up on a watch list. The reason was blatantly obvious. "Like I said, not good. Bourne's gotten himself into something."

"Mafia," Landy muttered. "A hit man for the mafia." What had Bourne done this time? She tried to understand the unpredictable man. Without any purpose now, his memory restored, had he decided to put his skills to use and take down various illicit organizations in Europe? How would he have found the mafia and what would put Bourne to take them out? Curse the man.

"Ma'am, according to this the plane ride the hit man took was a week ago," another analyst said. Landy had him bring it up. She stared at the screen.

"Had Nicky had the apartment before the flight?"

"Yes ma'am." That explained it then; the hit man had come after Nicky, not Bourne. The man had just been unlucky enough that Bourne had been there. It also explained why Bourne had left such a trail in London. She had suspected that perhaps Nicky was attached to Bourne after she defected to help him. Bourne had slipped that he was worried about her when he called about the order and talked to Paz later. Now it was confirmed. Bourne was protecting her. So would he hide with her or go for retribution, as tended to be his style?

"Everyone begin checking Bourne's passports; I want to know where he's going," Landy ordered. Typing increased as her team began to hunt down the passport names they likely knew by heart at this point. Heaven knows how many times they had tried to find him this way. "Find out whether he's traveling with Nicky or—"

"Here," Paz said out of the blue. Landy stopped and walked over to see what he was looking at. He pointed to a blurry figure in a Waterloo camera. "That's him and her."

"You sure?"

"I tried to kill him here once. He moved like that, keeping head down and lowering the target size. That's him; I swear. And the girl goes with him into a store, comes out with a scarf and hat. You can see her face here," Paz explained, changing the camera and time. Landy recognized Nicky's face, although her hair was different. That had probably been Bourne's doing.

"Did Black Briar or Treadstone ever do anything with the mafia?" Landy asked him. Paz shrugged; he had never been part of Treadstone, and if Black Briar had done anything it wasn't with him. Landy called to her assistant. "Go get the Bourne file and check for any mafia related targets." The assistant left for his office. Landy turned back to Paz. "What will he do? Hide or fight?"

Paz was silent as he stared at the camera films, holding still as a statue. "He knows who they are. If he knows why they are attacking, he will hide. Otherwise he will fight to know why."

"How do we tell which one it is?" Landy asked, turning to her team to see if they had anything new. To her surprise, Paz pulled out a gun and loaded it; where had he been keeping that? His psychologist had said not to carry weapons to help forget his training. Looks like old habits die hard. She was really shocked when he pulled out his passports. Hadn't those been burned? Where did he keep all of this?

"Have you read 'Hunt for Red October' by Tom Clancy?" Paz asked. When Landy shook her head, he went on. "My psychologist let me read it. The character Jack Ryan thinks he knows what the target is going to do, but to make sure he follows him and finds him. I'll find Bourne."

"So what's with the gun?" Landy asked warily.

"I want to help him if he accepts it. He gave me a new life," Paz answered. "You have my phone; trace it if you want. I'm going to London."

"You realize you'll probably be hours behind him."

"Yes." Paz walked away. Pam shook her head and sighed. She needed a coffee. Picking up the phone, she dialed the director's number. Things were once again becoming complicated. If she ever met Bourne again, she would give him enough sedative to ensure he slept for a year.

*****

"That's who, that's why, and that's what I intend to do," Bourne muttered. Due to Bourne's growing paranoia, they had moved to a private compartment in a different car. For the last ten minutes, through looks and careful, slow words, he had told her why his actions had once again placed her in danger. She had taken it better than he expected; she seemed not to care because he was there. Apparently he canceled out any danger she would be afraid of; that belief was evident in the way she looked at him. Bourne saw that as good; it meant he wouldn't have to be constantly assuring her. David was concerned; he was a danger in and of himself.

Nicky didn't see him as a danger to her, not anymore. When he had lost his memory, she had thought maybe it would have been easier. But it had gotten worse, especially in Berlin. There, she realized that not only did she still love him, but he was a threat to her now; he didn't remember anything and that left him dangerous. He had been terrifying at the time, caught in his anger. She had never been the target of his anger until now, and she had never cried so hard before that. Later she had cried because he didn't remember a thing of it, and she did. His memory presented her with something to fill the silence with. Silence was uncomfortable for her with him sitting right across from her.

"How much do you remember?" she asked. Bourne turned towards her quickly, caught off-guard. What had he been thinking about? It wouldn't surprise her to know if he had his hand on his gun. Not for the first time, Nicky wondered why he even bothered to carry a gun with him everywhere; he could kill somebody in probably fifty ways using a toothbrush. She focused herself on his coming answer; she wanted him to remember the good parts and not the bad pieces.

"I remember when we kissed, in the club," Jason muttered. He was tongue-tied explaining his inner thoughts. He expressed them much better. It had taken a long time for her to learn to 'read' what he was saying in stance. Only after lots of exposure to the killer assassin and reading his file did his moods and thoughts become apparent. "I remember when you became my personal handler." Nicky had always wondered had brought that about; Conklin had told her it was for her own safety. Judging by the brief tension he showed as his knuckles whitened, it was a violent memory.

None of the agents had liked Conklin. Halfway through her work with Bourne, she had tentatively asked why they were so passive and cold towards him. They were mind-washed assassins; they were supposed to be cold and soulless. But it seemed more so towards Conklin. He had brushed it off and muttered that they had developed a hierarchy of sorts, defining which 'soulless murderer' had the edge in power. Conklin was especially not like because he knew of the hierarchy but backed away every time they got antsy; they thought him 'not worthy' of knowing their hierarchy existed; it was for the cold, deadly, and murderous. It had been unexpected side effect of them not thinking and working more on instinct. They had been known to exhibit animalistic characteristics at times. Nicky remembered seeing a photo of one of the agent's handiwork when they had been suffering from a headache. The memory still made her throat tingle and shivers run down her spine…

She jerked back to the present as Bourne spoke. She hesitated a second before guessing as what to he said. It was only vaguely evident in how he sat. Eventually Nicky knew what he had said. "Why did you pick me? What do you see in me?" He apparently didn't see what was so special about him; he was focusing on the negative. Nicky opened her mouth to speak when the shocking happened: Bourne sucked in a tight breath and his body stiffened briefly.

"Are you hurt?" she asked. Bourne didn't answer but stared back. His body posture said no, but she knew better than to trust that at the moment. Bourne could lie in stance as well as verbally. She remembered thinking about him being shot and falling into the water. "Is the bullet still in you?" He didn't move. Finally he nodded. Nicky bit her lip. Here she was, thinking about him, when he still had a bullet in him. She stood up. "Follow me."

Hand still on his gun, Bourne stood up as well. His internal alarms went off when she left the compartment. Quelling his paranoia, he followed her down the hall. It was obvious what she intended. Deciding to play along, he grabbed something off the wall and stashed it in the flap of his coat. How Nicky had missed was beyond him; she was usually more observant. Maybe she was distracted. Bourne himself was frustrated with himself. He had let an assassin actually enter the room and get within arm's reach, all because he was kissing Nicky. It hadn't been the first time. He had let Marie get shot because he was arguing with her; a policeman had snuck up on him Moscow when he was having flashbacks; men had gotten to the door when he was talking in the training facility. He needed to stop getting distracted; eventually it would be the death of him. Or worse, her. He frowned when she opened the bathroom door and motioned him in. Jason Bourne wanted to go back to the compartment; it was visible out here and he could live with a little more pain. David Webb wanted him to shut up; his back ached and his body was sore.

Shutting the door behind him, Nicky's eyes ran over the bathroom. There really wasn't much in the way of medical equipment in the room. She had always kept first-aid in a bathroom, wherever she lived. She felt her cheeks turn pink when Bourne slipped a first-aid kit out of his coat. Either he was a magician, or more observant than her. She needed to refresh what she'd learned before working with Treadstone. She might have to use it sometime, especially if Bourne's plan didn't go as planned.

She placed the first-aid kit on the counter and then locked the door. It wouldn't be easy to explain why she was removing a bullet from his back if somebody walked in by accident. She fiercely pushed down thoughts that she would rather be caught doing something else. She wouldn't be able to focus if those types of thoughts were floating around. "Take off your shirt," she ordered, grabbing tweezers and insisting it was to heal him.

Nicky was shocked when he did. Bourne held still, his back to her, without moving a muscle. How he wasn't grunting each time he touched something was beyond her; she would be afraid to move. His entire upper body was sore and red from his experiences. There were large spots of black and blue from where he hit the water. She could plainly see the bullet wound; it was barely sticking out his skin; the area around it was greenish and infected. Why would he leave the bullet in? His stance reflected nothing of the pain; he had to be hiding it.

"How does this not hurt?" Nicky asked, checking his spine for any dislocation. Bourne kept still, trying to ignore the cool burning sensation created by her slender hands.

"I ignore it."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't take care of yourself."

"There wasn't time."

Of course; the classic excuse. For doing nothing other than traveling and fighting, he could at least pull the bullet out when traveling. She highly doubted that a man who could leap through buildings and fall ten stories lacked the flexibility and steady hands to do this. She remembered he often mentioned asking for a mission or task while waiting for Conklin to give him one. Now he said he didn't have enough time. She finished checking his skeletal structure and dabbed a swab with rubbing alcohol.

She rubbed it over the infected area and gently around the bullet. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder, placed the tweezers on the bullet, and slowly swiveled it out. Bourne never moved throughout the entire thing; he was braver than she was. She wouldn't have stopped groaning. It made her hurt vicariously for him as she finished plucking the bullet out and tossed it away. She started sterilizing the wound. It was right then Bourne spoke.

"You never answered my question," he muttered.

Nicky paused a second before going on. "You were different," she finally replied. "You were cold, just like the rest, but you also seemed…human, like you still had a soul." She focused intently on cleaning his wounds and treating him, dreading when he asked what else there was. Did he have to ask at the moment? Her cheeks turning pink, Nicky mumbled, "You were…good looking and muscular." Her mumble became incoherent as she tried to speed up the process.

David Webb smiled inwardly. She thought he looked good? Jason's eyes flicked towards the bathroom mirror; he supposed his conditioning hadn't faltered that much. Personally he thought he needed to step up. But if Nicky thought he looked good…an unknown frivolous feeling entered his stomach. He would step up his conditioning. His eyes glanced back to the mirror again as she bandaged the bullet wound. She looked beautiful. His body and mind began to want her. He found himself thinking things that Jason Bourne found distracting and interesting, and that David Webb encouraged.

Nicky finished, and Bourne put his shirt back on. She was slightly disappointed to see his physique, although bruised and battered, vanish beneath his shirt again. They left the kit on the counter and headed back for their compartment. As they left the bathroom, a stewardess passed, trying to hide a suggestive smile. Nicky's cheeks turned pink, and Bourne regretted not being able to read her face from behind. She moved quicker into the private compartment, though.

Bourne sat down slowly, feeling less pained with the bullet out. Maybe he had left it in there a little long. So what? Bourne asked. It hurt, David responded. He forgot the former wound as he noticed Nicky focusing unusually hard on the window, her face still flushed. His body urged him, and Bourne wasn't about to refuse; he still wanted her. He likely never would stop.

Nicky wasn't sure when Bourne switched seats from across from her to next to her, but she turned when he called her name softly. The look in his eyes mirrored what she was feeling. Wordlessly she let him guide her mouth to his. She wanted him, too.


	7. All Roads Lead to Paris

Chapter VII

All Roads Lead to Paris

Nicky was asleep when the train reached its destination. She was slumped against his body; her head was perched on his shoulder. It was little trouble for him to hold completely still for the duration of the trip, doing his best not to wake her. Instead of thinking how long he would remain still, he thought about how badly she likely needed this rest. Yet David Webb continually interrupted with how nice she felt laying against him, and how warm her body heat was to his own. While the thoughts certainly were pleasant and welcoming, they would often make him want to move to bring her close to him. So, to David Webb's displeasure, Jason Bourne did his best to focus on being a statue.

But he couldn't be one anymore. Reaching carefully with his other hand, he gently tapped her wrist. It was a simple, calming way to wake up, much more so than simply be shaken or called to. Jason Bourne considered an excellent strategy for keeping victims awake during interrogation. David Webb tried to focus more on why he was using it, other than what it was used for. Strangely enough, though, he found himself wishing that she would embrace him tighter in a struggle to stay asleep. He didn't know why; they had to get up and off the train. He continued the tapping motion.

Nicky's eyes slid open slowly as Bourne's tapping took effect. She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear as she sat up, looking around. She turned back to him for an answer with that wonderful look of hers. "We're there," Bourne answered, keeping himself restrained. If he didn't, then he would be kissing her for making that face rather than getting them off the train. She was so beautiful, he thought, and so…tempting, it was hard to keep himself completely concentrated on their objective in this whole thing. He could spend time with her, Jason Bourne told David Webb, when they had integrated themselves into the city.

However, keeping herself looking blank and resolute, she stood up and stretched a little. They exited out the back of the train without any difficulty. Bourne made to instinctively grab Nicky's arm, so he could protect her, but he was shocked when she pulled her arm away. He quickly covered it as he read her expression. She was grateful for his desire to protect her, but the majority of her face was somewhat teasing, as if saying that she was a 'big girl' now. He still hesitated before giving consent. She rolled her eyes, considering his consent to walk by herself a joke. Yet as soon as they started to walk out of the station, she stumbled, having forgotten the transition from train to land during her conversation with him. Both Jason Bourne and David Webb struggled not to smile at her. Internally he was laughing at the sight of her flushed cheeks and hardened scowl.

They left the train station, Nicky turned to Bourne expectantly. She was surprised to see him turn to her expectantly. This was his plan; shouldn't he know what he was doing? His stance didn't change, and slowly Nicky understood why he was waiting for her. Jason Bourne had always lived in apartments chosen either by Treadstone, or where he had the best ability to defend himself or get away. He wasn't looking for either this time, and so he needed her. Apparently David Webb hadn't been much of one for apartment hunting, either. But why wouldn't he want an apartment that was easy to defend? She conveyed it to him as she flagged down a taxi.

Bourne answered with the short, quick words, "They won't expect it of me." His response satisfied her as they climbed into the slowing taxi. Nicky spoke to the driver in French a street and address. He secretly released a sigh. That had not been the true reason; he had come up with it afterward. In truth he wanted her be comfortable. If it came down to it, he could defend any house in the city. Nicky knew this, but she knew he would be better off if it was in an easier accomplished building. That didn't mean Nicky would be better off in something he chose, usually trodden down due to its anonymous appearance and records. However, if she knew he was just doing it for her, she might choose one of his choices for him. She always seemed to try to make him most comfortable. Bourne had dealt with discomfort in one way or another all his life. He was willing to again so the person he had found him loving was.

*****

Paz entered the room slowly. He had sneaked past the police tape and into Nicky's old apartment without trouble, arriving at night so that he had a smaller chance of being seen. For sentimental reasons, he had a handgun out and silenced. The feeling and familiarity of it in his hands seemed reassuring, even though his psychologist had warned him to stay away from weapons. Paz couldn't help himself. Even had he never been part of Black Briar, he would have probably owned a gun anyway. Bourne still carried one, and Paz was certain that other former assassin never felt the need to randomly go on a mission to execute somebody. His psychologist apparently thought that of him.

He passed on to the counter, where a cup of what smelled like coffee still sat. They had left in a hurry. Judging by all the scattered papers and trash along the floor, Bourne's fight with the killer in the house had been brief. It had not been pleasant, though. Paz had studied Bourne's handiwork in other hand-to-hand skirmishes. Normally Bourne was intending to disable or kill his target within the shortest amount of time possible. But this man…Paz had seen the X-rays of the breaks earlier that day. This time Bourne had been trying to hurt his target, as though there was some personal vendetta. It made little sense to Paz at the moment; what vendetta would Bourne have with mafia killers?

Everything he studied, he pointed the camera of his cell phone at. Back at Langley, Pam and her team were watching through his phone. Paz considered it irritating; it limited the amount of hands he had. He knew and admitted to himself that his mission was recon and search, not kill, but it was more comfortable if he had both his hands. That was why he had a Bluetooth device in his ear to talk and listen. Maybe he needed to talk to his psychologist about his constant desire to feel safe and secure…

"Do you see anything that indicated where Bourne and Nicky went?" Landy asked through the Bluetooth. Paz did one more search of the apartment before lowering his gun.

"No, ma'am," Paz said, holding his device closer. "He likely came up with it on his own, after they were already at Waterloo."

"That would be him. Head to Waterloo and wait a moment, we're still tracking Bourne and Nicky's passports—" Paz muted his Bluetooth as his instincts went off. Checking the safety of his gun, he stealthily headed into the bathroom. Returning his Bluetooth's noise to the minimum level, he noted something about the door. The lock had been played with. That must have been where the killer had been hiding. So why did the fight take place away from the bathroom? Had Bourne not sensed him? That seemed difficult for Paz to believe. He suddenly changed thought processes as Pam spoke quietly into the Bluetooth.

"I just got a call from the Director. He's 'officially' approved your mission to find and debrief Bourne, but he doesn't want a body count. With the publicity of Black Briar and now Bourne leaving a trail in London, he doesn't want the CIA to get any bad press. So lethal action is forbidden. He's afraid of the repercussions not only Bourne might bring on us, but you especially: you still work for us. So find out who's there, but no killing," Pam ordered. Paz had mixed feelings about Pam's way of working. He had discovered that she often felt a need to justify her orders or explain her reasoning. On one level, the Black Briar training he was trying to forget (and yet was utilizing at this moment) thought her explanations were longer than they needed to be and unnecessarily complicated. On the other hand, he appreciated it, too. Explaining to him made him feel less like a soldier without a heart and more like a person.

Two people stepped into the room as Paz put the safety on his gun and stowed it. It took him less than a second to know they weren't police, and he assumed that Landy and her team, watching through his phone, knew as well. They were likely mafia muscle, come to see exactly what he had. Paz searched the bathroom briefly for a weapon and left his phone sitting on the counter. Despite the heavy training at Black Briar, he had never been as accomplished with hand-to-hand or demolitions as Desh; Paz's skills had lied in marksmanship and athletic endurance. None of that meant he couldn't fight. He found his weapons and prepared for his assault. He heard Landy make a cursing sound in his Bluetooth; she could only hear, and that made her worry.

Paz stepped out behind the two men. This was the part that pounded the most adrenaline through him: approaching unseen and unheard. Black Briar officials called it the point of no return. Once an asset reached the pounding of adrenaline, they would take their target, or else the useless buildup of adrenaline was damaging to their 'weapon.' Now that he wasn't completely heartless anymore, Paz was shocked to find he enjoyed the rush. This would make for a long therapy session; he didn't want to forget this. Paz focused on his targets; they were both armed with pistols. It wouldn't matter. He struck.

A porcelain toilet cover crushed into the first man's head, breaking apart and dropping him like a rock. The second man spun around to shoot at his attacker. With his second hand Paz slammed a hand mirror into the man's gun hand. The mirror shattered and the man's hand was cut open dropping the gun. Paz slammed a knee into the man's gut to knock the wind out of him and then dropped him with a forearm to the jaw. He planted a solid, balanced foot on the man's stomach and drew his gun. The man, wheezing for air, found Paz over him with a silenced handgun pointed at his face. His eyes flicked briefly to his unconscious companion, out with porcelain around him.

"Holy shit," the man muttered. "Another one?" Paz didn't answer but kept his eyes and gun on the man. What was he doing? Paz honestly didn't know; interrogation hadn't been covered by Black Briar. Treadstone had covered it, but assets had never needed to interrogate, only kill. Unsure of what exactly Landy needed, he turned up his Bluetooth all the way and called in.

"One down, one awaiting questioning, ma'am," Paz reported. Perhaps Landy knew him better than he thought, because she spoke to the man through the Bluetooth. He had thought her smart but unperceptive. She couldn't read an agent or asset, and she seemed rather ignorant of people's emotions. That was his first and lasting impression of her. But just now, she understood him. She had tracked Jason Bourne once…

"Who are you working for?" Landy asked the man. The man continued to stare at Paz, frightened, until Landy asked a second time.

"He'll kill me," the man pleaded.

"Did the mafia send you?" Landy asked. The man broke down before nodding. Paz relayed his answer to Pam.

"What is the mafia's issue with Jason Bourne?"

"I…I don't—"

"What is the mafia's issue with Bourne?" Landy asked again. Paz mulled something over before trying it. He clicked the gun's safety off. The man looked ready to cry when he heard and saw Paz's action.

"I don't know! I'm new! All I know is that they've been watching Bourne for years?"

"Who's they?" Landy asked. But at this he shut his mouth. He didn't even make a noise when Paz pretended to load his gun. Whoever had they were, they had terrified him into silence. That much was evident in his body language.

"Ma'am, I believe that's all you're going to get out of him," Paz noted. "He looks terrified of them, ma'am."

He heard her sigh in the Bluetooth. "Fine. Head to Waterloo." Paz confirmed her order, and then pistol whipped the man, knocking him out. He put the safety on and hid the gun, and then retrieved his cell phone. Paz had been wearing gloves; there were no cameras; he would be unseen.

Paz turned down the volume as he walked back out into the streets. He knew London well, and it didn't take him more than half an hour to jog there. Running was one of Paz's strengths; he found some small, therapeutic measure in running. His psychologist said to run whenever he was stressed or had time, and Paz had never disagreed with him on this point.

As Paz reached Waterloo, which was still busy at night, he heard Pam's voice once more. "We just found Nicky's passport; they checked into Paris. Head there and find them as best as you can. Call us when you get there."

"Yes, ma'am," Paz answered, shutting his cell phone off. The call time had been seven minutes and thirty-three seconds. Paz found a train and climbed onboard, toting only a backpack. Despite what his psychologist and fledgling conscience told him, it did feel good to be putting his skills to use, if at least to help someone who helped him.

*****

"Bourne?" Nicky asked as he cleaned the dishes he'd used for dinner. It had been a small fast-food meal, bought at the last minute while Bourne was 'preparing' the apartment for their stay. He had been alarmed and worried when she walked out the door and he realized her absence ten seconds later. When she returned, he had been sitting on the couch, holding his gun nervously. He had been sitting there the entire time, debating whether to come after her. He only put the weapon away when she promised nothing had gone wrong. "When this is over, what do you want to do with yourself?"

Bourne had not been expecting the question. He thought at first that finding his memories would bring those answers. After several years, they had only brought conflict and no answers for his future. Then he had gone looking for Nicky. He felt more at peace, but still no answer to that question. At the moment, he was focused on hiding from the Italian Mafia. He didn't know what to do afterwards. What could an ex-assassin do? Jason Bourne thought as long as he was with Nicky, it didn't matter too much.

"Something quiet," Bourne finally answered, wiping down his glass. "Something that involves thinking, but only a little interaction with people. I want to be mostly unnoticed and to observe."

"Observe what?" she asked. Judging by her expression and seated posture, she was highly interested in what he had to say. Why was that? Jason Bourne, as well as the David Webb he was integrating, wondered once more what he had done for her to come with him so willingly and caringly. He was a murderer; he didn't deserve such. Why were his thoughts so interesting to her? She was the interesting one.

"I don't know. Things. People."

"So…a professor?" Nicky suggested. Bourne thought he saw a trace of smile on her face. He had no memory of her smiling, and he suddenly wanted to bring it out, to see her when she was happy and smiling. Jason Bourne let David Webb take over a little, in order to appeal to her sense of humor. He wanted to draw out that smile.

"A professor? What would I teach? 101 Ways to Kill with a Toothbrush?" Bourne joked. To his great pleasure, Nicky replied with a sincere smile before looking down at her plate.

His heart took flight at the sight of it. It was the first time he remembered seeing her smile, and he memorized it on the spot. She looked so beautiful with it…Bourne found himself wanting her more than he had before. Nicky watched with interest as he seemed to glide towards her and embraced her in a kiss. She sank into it and pressed herself against him, not minding when Bourne picked her up. Secretly, down inside, she'd been hoping so long to have him, and now she did.

*****Rome, Italy, 22:35*****

"Our man called; they have his position."

"Are they sure? They got away in London, and I don't want more failures."

"I'm positive, boss. Not only did our man come through again, some of our boys in London ran into a man. The CIA is after him too."

"Then do what you need to; take anything you need. I want them dead."

"Yes, boss. What about the CIA?"

"I'm going to bed. In the morning, the only decisions I want to make is whether to reward our man for finding him, and whether to leave something for the CIA to find."


	8. Assassin, Soldier, Killer

Chapter VIII

Assassin, Soldier, Killer

Perhaps it was his instincts that woke him. Maybe he had simply woken up. Either way, Jason Bourne found his mind gearing up to take in what he was doing. He felt something soft beneath him, as he had expected to, but it wasn't the texture of the couch he had felt yesterday. He also felt quite stark; something wasn't exactly right. Hadn't they agreed that he would just sleep on the couch? Had he somehow come across a blanket? And what was on him that felt nice and warm? His memory of last night was fogged; the last thing he remembered was seeing her smile when he mentioned toothbrushes.

Bourne opened his eyes. He was definitely not on the couch.

He was laying in bed, up to his neck in the cover. He shifted his eyes ever so slightly so as to glance to his right. Nicky's arm and head were draped across him, her head using his shoulder more for a pillow than the pillow. She was as naked as he was. Suddenly his situation became clear as Bourne remembered the rest of the night. For a moment that's all that he wanted to do: remember. And he did exactly that, feeling more complete that he ever had since being hauled up by fisherman.

But his Jason Bourne persona had to cut in on David Webb with two problems: one, something was wrong. Jason could sense it. His personal 'spidey-sense' was quick to inform him that there was a threat somewhere, nearby. If not in the apartment, then outside. There was an enemy out there, targeting them. David Webb wanted to let it go. There was always a threat. Jason insisted it had to be dealt with, and then they could go back to David Webb. David Webb still refused. Nicky was asleep; he might wake her if they got up to investigate. Jason Bourne's second point was one David Webb couldn't refuse, though. They needed to use the restroom. And the longer they stayed there, the worse it would become.

Somewhat disappointed, the man who called himself Jason D. W. Bourne discreetly slid Nicky's arm off of him. He slipped sideways, letting her head come to rest on the pillow. Without making a sound, he climbed out of the bed and clothed himself. He tied his shoes quickly and had his coat on all within a minute. Then he grabbed his gun and attached the silencer. He waited until he was out of the room before he loaded it. Nicky was asleep, after all. Bourne made a sweep of the rooms. There was nobody inside, unless they were moving around as well and were as quiet as he was. He checked on Nicky before checking into the bathroom. He could check outside when he was done.

Outside, the city was waking up. Bourne kept his gun and arm hidden beneath the flap of his coat. People passed him by on the street as he glanced around. No one had that distinguishable look of being a threat to him. After a fifteen minute perimeter hunt of the apartment, Bourne decided that it was just paranoia. He had a lot of it, after all. But that threatened feeling remained as he walked back to the apartment. Several times he backtracked, feeling eyes on him. But there was nobody there. Now confused, he replaced the safety and walked inside.

Inside, Nicky had woken up to the sound of the door shutting. She reacted differently that Bourne had, jumping awake. It was a common reaction for her; she was part of Bourne's world, but his world could be terrifying. He himself was one of the more dangerous parts of his world. Part of her secretly loved that sense of danger he inspired in her. It was one of the reasons she hadn't told him; Bourne would likely breakdown if she told him she liked how dangerous he was. He didn't like being reminded he was deadly, for starters.

Then Nicky had been startled to find that he wasn't in bed anymore. She slowly got dressed and proceeded to look around. His shoes and coat were gone, as well as his gun. He must have gone out, likely the door that had awakened her. She felt slightly disappointed; what could he have to do that he couldn't stay? Hopefully nothing dangerous. Taking the gun with him meant nothing. Bourne would take a gun with him to meet the Dali Lama. She knew he kept to his old training routines; had he gone out for a run? He couldn't have stayed a time longer?

She was looking for something to eat when the door opened again. In walked Bourne, as attractive to her as the day she'd met him. But he didn't look calm. Something was wrong. "What's wrong?" she asked. Bourne's body language was practically screaming self-defense and tension.

"Paranoia," he muttered. That explained everything. Jason Bourne wouldn't wait in bed when he thought somebody out there might kill him. In truth, there were probably lots of people who wanted Bourne, and therefore her, dead, but Bourne always felt threatened. It was what he was, and part of him. She partially regretted having helped with that. They sat down at the table next to each other, Nicky holding a small cup of coffee. There was something he wanted to ask. It was obvious the way he struggled with himself.

"How did Conklin not know?" he asked. Nicky's heart sank a little. Bourne could see that it wasn't a pleasant memory. Something had happened, something he didn't remember yet. Had Conklin known? Did he threaten them? Had Nicky been punished in some way? Had the other agents, in resentment, punished him? She looked unhappy that he had brought it up. Calmly, Bourne ripped her out of her seat and carried her away from the table as bullets spat towards the now empty chairs.

Immediately Nicky's face was full of fear and panic. "How?" she asked quietly. Bourne's answer was nonverbal. He didn't know either, but they had been given their chance to leave him alone, just as the CIA had had theirs. He stood her up next to the fridge. It was made of hard material and had no direction contact with windows or openings. Bourne handed Nicky his silenced Glock. She took it, holding it with familiarity but not the same experience as him. Hoping to be reassuring, he brushed her cheek. Then Jason Bourne took over, heading out the door and grabbing Nicky's scarf.

Outside, Bourne immediately felt people watching him. He identified one man on the roof and moved towards alleys. Gunfire nipped at his heels right as he made it to the corner. Screams and frenzied stampedes to get away ensued. It would make it that much easier to hunt down those hunting him. He came out onto another street and darted back into the alley. A submachine let off a burst where he'd been. Bourne waited a few seconds for the gunfire to continue before grunting and dropping to the ground, face down.

The gunfire stopped, and he heard people muttering. To his satisfaction, he also heard footsteps. He held still waiting for them come. Part of being an assassin was patience. Jason Bourne had patience. The footsteps stopped, and Bourne used his hearing to guess the man's proximity to his own. His body wanted to tense, but he kept relaxed; a false move right now would blow his cover and likely kill him. The footsteps came closer. Then closer. Bourne envisioned what he would do as some as the man was in reach. He felt adrenaline come with the thrill of lying in wait. Another step.

Close enough. Bourne whipped around with his foot and kicked the gunman in the groin. The man made a soft grunt, unable to move, as Bourne spun to his feet and caught the man in a choke hold. He slammed him against the wall. "How many?" Bourne asked. The man was still recovering from the kick. Bourne slammed him against the wall again. "I said how many?"

"Three men," the man gasped. "Two snipers." Bourne finished the hold and the man sagged a little. He crashed the man's head into the wall. He didn't stop to check as to whether or not he was dead; Bourne just took his shotgun. That meant that there was another man with a submachine gun across the street. Bourne went back the way he came until he came to a fire escape. He jumped and caught hold. He climbed up.

On the roof, Bourne kept low as he searched for their sharpshooters. He knew where the one was and kept cover between the two of them. If he was lucky, then the man thought he was still on the ground. Bourne looked down between two buildings: a man with a gun was standing impatiently, waiting for Bourne to come his way. Bourne loaded, leaned down a little, and fired. The man dropped. He had to move; the shot would attract attention. He looked at the building across from the short roof he was on. Gauging the distance, he took three steps and jumped.

His hand came into contact with the metal of another fire escape. He tried to wrap his other arm around a ledge and failed; his feet slipped. Bourne grunted and threw his other hand and shotgun over the edge. Pulling himself up, he planted his feet before climbing over the rail. He worked his way up, having spotted the second sniper above him. Slowly Bourne climbed; if the other sniper spotted him this wouldn't work. He found an open window and climbed in.

It was a bedroom. Somebody was in the bathroom. Taking care not to disturb them, he walked out into the hall. He loaded the shotgun as he made for the roof. Here he could make noise, but his footsteps still landed fast and light. Just because he could make noise didn't mean he should. When he reached the roof door, he carefully opened it. The sniper was sitting on the roof corner, peering through the scope at the streets. Jason raised the shotgun and fired. Then he traded the shotgun for the rifle.

His instincts went off as he spotted a red dot on the wall. He dropped to his stomach as bullets sprayed overhead. They stopped, and Jason turned and looked down the rifle's scope. The other sniper had moved: smart rifleman. He should likely do the same. Bourne headed back down the stairs. He stayed on the same flight halfway down a building when a man came racing up the stairs with a gun. He looked surprised to see Bourne there. Bourne struck him in the jaw with the rifle and then elbowed him in the temple, dropping him. He pocketed the handgun.

Bourne counted to ten in front of the door. Then he went through, keeping the rifle under his coat. He had one sniper, two men. That left two. As he left the building, he could hear police. He needed to hurry; they had to get out of here with Nicky before the police arrived. The CIA might have forgiven him, but various police societies across the globe hadn't. He turned into the alley again. The three ground man was in plain sight. What was going on? Then the gunman turned and walked, ever so much that Bourne couldn't see him. The sniper was likely watching him.

Catching hold of a third fire escape, he climbed onto a roof. Taking a knee behind a chimney stack, he searched. The sniper was across the street, on a higher building. Jason took the shot, and then rushed down to the gunman. He struck him first in the leg, then through the head. That made five. Leaving the rifle, he loaded the handgun and hurried back to the apartment. His mind was already calculating what to take and what to leave.

His breath caught: the door was open. Bourne raised the gun and ran inside, suddenly uncaring for his own health. He searched. There were things everywhere across the floor, and a dead man near the bedroom. Bourne checked every room again before collapsing backwards against a wall. They had used himself against them. Somehow they knew he would go out to stop them, and sent other men afterward to get Nicky. A throbbing, aching feeling enveloping him. Jason Bourne was incredulously denying it; David Webb was silent. Behind the hurt suddenly came anger and fury. He stood up and did something he'd never done before.

He lost control and yelled.

*****

"Get there," Landy ordered. "If it's Bourne then either he's in trouble or something else is happening."

"Yes ma'am," Paz replied. He had one hand on the small .45 caliber revolver in his jacket and the other on his cell phone. The Bluetooth in his ear was turned up; he didn't really care at the moment. People around him were either rushing around or listening to the news about the gunfight. Paz, in his jacket with a phone and backpack, didn't attract any attention. He marched forward down the street.

His phone rang right before he was about to hang up. Paz froze before walking to a secure, empty street corner. It wasn't his cell phone, his official phone that Landy was on, that was ringing. "What's that?" Landy asked. Paz glanced around before turning up his Bluetooth.

"I suggest not speaking, ma'am," Paz asked, and then answered it. There was only one other phone in the world that had this phone's number. "Paz."

"They took her." Bourne's voice was loaded. It sounded so angry and intimidating over the connection that Paz nearly drew his revolver. He forced his heightening senses to relax; Bourne was his ally.

"What?"

"They took her! They took Nicky!" Bourne shouted at the phone. Paz distantly understood why Bourne was so angry. He hadn't experienced what Bourne had, but he could guess. "I'm going after her, and then I'm going for them. Tell the CIA to keep out of this, or else." That sounded exactly like Bourne and what Paz had predicted. He had tried to hide and give them a second chance to leave them alone; now he would kill them. Nicky's kidnapping complicated it.

"Under the Eiffel, twenty minutes," Paz said before Bourne could hang up.

There was a breath's hesitation. "Too slow."

"Fifteen minutes."

"…done."

"White car, backpack, grey jacket."

"Fifteen minutes," Bourne insisted, and then hung up. Paz returned the phone to his jacket and began moving.

"Paz, what are you doing?"

"Helping him. I know this is against my psychologist, but he helped me once, ma'am," Paz explained shifting his backpack.

"You can't kill anyone. This mission has no lethal action clearance. The CIA will hang you out to dry," Landy warned. Did he sense concern in her voice? It felt odd coming from a superior. He'd never received any in Black Briar.

"Ma'am, I don't feel well."

"What do you mean?"

"Ma'am, I think I am sick. I believe I need a break, ma'am."

He could nearly hear something like snickering in the background. "I see. Take some vacation time, Paz. You can pick up afterward."

"Thank you ma'am. Paz out."

"Wait. Before you hang up, what white car?"

"…Paz out."


	9. Promise of Amends

Chapter IX

A Promise of Amends

"Got it," Pam's assistant announced as he rushed into the room. Pam turned to face him as he laid an open file down on the folder. This was what she had been looking for since Bourne had appeared again in London: a connection between him and his new enemy. After what had to be grueling paperwork and searching, her assistant had come through again. "Bourne and the mafia have a history together; they go all the way back to Treadstone; they were one of his missions about a year into the program. He was ordered to take out the mafia father, and being Bourne…"

"He succeeded," Landy finished. She stared down at the single sheet indicating the entire process of an assassination. Stamped across it in red letters was the word 'Terminated.' Too many people were killed by the CIA, but this person had likely been one of the very few who deserved it. His picture wasn't friendly in anyway. "How'd Bourne do it?"

"Car bomb," her assistant replied. "This is where it gets complicated. Somehow the remains of the mafia, under the man's brother, managed to trace it to Treadstone and not towards the false suspect. They tracked Bourne back to Paris, and there they learned about his handler, Nicky Parsons."

"They went after her?"

"Yeah. Bourne was in the middle of an appointment at the moment, and so Conklin had him take her to a safe house; Bourne left four bodies along the way. Meanwhile, to send a warning, Conklin had Bourne stay and guard Nicky while he sent the Professor to gun down their new leader. The mafia got the message when the Professor shot him through a wall and in his bedroom." Her assistant laid down a new sheet, indicating the death of the first's brother. Two assassinations in a row…that had to be frightening, especially when either likely had no idea it was coming.

"Where's the Professor now?" Landy asked. She answered her own question "Dead, that's right." Bourne had killed him in the middle of a field, by blasting him twice with a shotgun and letting him bleed to death. Only Parsons and Bourne seemed to have survived Treadstone, and they were both out of reach of the CIA. And Paz was on 'sick leave.' She hated having him going out and killing, when his psychologist had warned him about slipping into old habits and that if he was caught, the CIA was doomed. They needed information. "So why is the mafia picking up the trail? How did they manage to find Bourne and Nicky after all this time?"

"I don't think they ever stopping watching them, just waiting for the right moment to strike," her assistant muttered. "And after watching him all this time, they probably know how he works and what passports he uses."

"So did we, and we probably have better equipment than them," Landy muttered. "Everyone, start checking anything we have on the Italian Mafia. I want to know why they're after Bourne after all these years." Her team got to work. She turned back to her assistant. "Who's their head now?"

"The son of Bourne's target: Vincent De Luca."

*****

His mind was buzzing with thoughts, both of David Webb and Jason Bourne. David Webb was going through a nervous breakdown, constantly looking around in the hopes that Nicky would appear right next to him, that he was dreaming. He was worried about what might happen to her, what they might do to her. David nearly sweated with nightmarish images of Nicky being tortured by them, beaten and cut. Seeing her face cut up in his mind made his body unable to hold still, desperate for some action to stop it. David Webb was close to losing what was left of his persona to insanity out of fear.

If David Webb was scared, Jason Bourne was furious. His blood boiled at the unspeakable sin the mafia had committed against him. The unbidden images that terrified David Webb broke Jason Bourne deeper into his decision to slaughter the mafia. He was counting how many bullets he had and how many he could kill with a gun before he was forced to improvise. His vision bloodied when he thought of the mafia, sitting in their homes thinking they were safe and victorious. Fingers curled and flexed into fists, prepared to strike anybody around him, to burn off steam that was endlessly building inside of him.

It was an unusual, but somewhat satisfying combination of emotion: fear and concern for Nicky, who had helped him fill in a missing part of his mind and heart; and wrath, for the mafia foolish enough to think they could take her from him without suffering the consequences in return. Both personas were merging better than he could've expected, David Webb integrating into Jason Bourne. It was ironic: the one thing he didn't want to happen was putting them together with common goals in mind.

Save Nicky. Kill them.

A white car pulled up the sidewalk where he was standing. Bourne didn't need more than a second to identify Paz inside, unlocking the doors. With how he was feeling, he didn't even care if someone noticed Paz had pulled right up to him; the former asset had arrived a minute-half early, too. He had more important things to worry about and take care of. As soon as Bourne was in the car, Paz hit the gas and took off.

"Venice, Italy," Bourne ordered. They changed lanes as Paz headed for the train station. The train was the fastest way they could travel while keeping hold of whatever weaponry they had. Bourne was certain that Paz had a rifle in his backpack; what else would he keep in there except for IDs? "One handgun, two clips. You?"

"Rifle, 3 magazines, 20 rounds each; handgun with one clip," Paz recited. "Silencers?"

"Yes."

They were silent for the ride to the airport. Bourne was exhibiting something in his stance that Paz hadn't noticed before. Not only did he mirror the girl, Parsons, he also looked like he expected Paz to obey him without question, like Bourne was ranked higher than him. He wrote if off as a Treadstone experience; the assets in Black Briar had been prevented from contact. Apparently that had been an issue with Treadstone; the agents had been developing a hierarchy of power. Paz didn't doubt who had been the best among them. Bourne was the only surviving agent for a reason.

Neither of them talked as they purchased their tickets and got on the train. They still didn't talk when they sat down in their private compartment. There wasn't a need or desire to talk. What did they have to say to each other? Bragging about how many they would kill? They were trained to be above that. And Bourne wasn't in the mood for bragging about killing. Paz had decided he would as soon forget his rifle and the people he'd end after it was over. They were trained assassins and killers. Neither had anything friendly to say; they didn't know each other at all. Besides, as Paz closed his eyes to sleep and Bourne turned towards the window, quiet solitude before a mission was better.

Bourne wanted to be alone with his thoughts of Nicky. Her face had begun appearing in his mind's eye, and he searched for it, remembering anything he could about her that could comfort him while he went to save her. They had been in love, Bourne realized, before the dance club, before either of them could identify it. He had been attracted to her since day one. How long did it take her? He didn't believe anyone could be attracted to a natural killer right away. She had said he was more human than the others, though.

That made little sense to Jason Bourne. He remembered one agent worked as a business man undercover. Castel was a home mechanic. Alex had actually gardened, keeping the apartment he worked out of covered in flowers and potting soil. The Professor apparently had been a wonderful piano player. What had he done? Bourne remembered nothing that he did like the others to pass the time between missions. How did that make him more human? He had spent his time conditioning himself and thinking.

He had thought about his attraction to Nicky in an attempt to discern it, much like he was now. How much easier his life must have been, Bourne thought, after his attraction to Nicky was unveiled. Certainly he had spent time with her, and that was a far better way to pass time, to be with somebody he cared for…

*****

_"With what?" she replied back softly. Bourne could nearly see the men through the wall._

_"Do you just trust me?" he asked again, a bit more urgent. Nicky's face put off a flurry of emotion before she nodded. He flicked the lock of hair back in place. Then he pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply, wrapping his arms around her. One eye, struggling to stay open, saw the shadows of the killers. They stared at his and Nicky's shadow before passing on. Bourne began to pull away, to guide Nicky back out of the club, only to realize that he didn't want to stop kissing her. He hadn't kissed her, he realized, to stop them from finding them. He had kissed her because he wanted her in his arms and with him, because he had been attracted to her all this time._

_His entire being sank into the kiss that was erupting with undiscovered and naked passion. Bourne pulled Nicky closer to him, and she didn't object. She kissed him back as Bourne's hands found themselves running down her back. It started to feel warm. Nicky didn't hold back in any way, giving just as much as she received. Bourne had never known he could feel so passionately after his training, but he would give anything to keep this feeling. One of Nicky's legs wrapped around his as one hand slid up the back of her shirt. The other hand rested beneath her tailbone, lifting her closer to him._

_Training instincts warned him that this was wrong, but Bourne found he could brush them away with a single thought. He had been craving and loving her since he met her, and he was going to. Despite the powerful training and mind-wiping that had been instilled in Treadstone's top assassin, Bourne wanted to escape with her. He wanted to take them off the grid and away from the others and Conklin…Suddenly fear enveloped Bourne for her._

_With reflex only developed after years of training, Bourne threw himself back to the other side of the room, body posture suddenly threatened and panic. "No," he muttered, before his body could take control again. Nicky stood there, looking sad and yet understanding why he had backed away. Bourne nearly shivered at the sight of her broken, dead expression. He steeled himself. "If we do this, they'll know," he stated, out of breath. He forced himself to look into her eyes. "They'll punish you. They'll kill you."_

_Nicky understood the full scope of his words and the consequences of their actions. Her face, painted with despair at losing what she wanted but the knowledge of what she had to do, was heartbreaking. Both wished that what they wanted wasn't the wrong thing to do. Bourne found it a mistake to have looked into her deep, dark eyes, now filled with what would be a longing and sadness. A part of him seemed gone, lost to her expression. He knew that he wouldn't be the same, that part of him was dead, but if it meant Nicky's life, then he was willing to sacrifice that much._

_Despite the terrible tumult of feelings that threatened to overwhelm him, Bourne's training was now firmly in mind. His face became stone to hide the sting. Nicky did the same. They walked out of the hallway and left for the safe house. Their eyes never met, for fear of seeing the dead in each other._

*****

No, that couldn't be real. That couldn't have happened, Bourne argued with himself. He had loved her; he couldn't have given her up that easily. After everything he felt, after what the skirmish with Castel to protect her, to ensure that she was his, he had left them both in the cold. How could he have done that? There was no way, training or not, that he could surrender a piece of him so large to heartless abandon. David Webb refused to believe it; if the person was all of him he might have shed a tear. Shut up, was the expression Jason Bourne got when he tried to mention why they had done it.

Bourne became aware of ragged breathing and alert eyes on him. He looked up to see Paz staring at him, a hand on his backpack for insurance. "Bad dream?" Paz asked. His body posture was hesitant, wary. He had sensed how dangerous a mood Bourne had been in and was concerned for his welfare. Bourne relaxed how he was sitting, putting Paz at ease.

"Flashback," Bourne explained, putting it clear in his tone and body that he really didn't enjoy or want to talk about it. Paz wasn't about to delve into it; the asset fell asleep again. That left Bourne to deal with the burden of what he had discovered, for which he was grateful and resentful at the same time.

He had somehow, against everything his mind was telling him, stopped their affections before they could take hold. He had done it so Nicky wouldn't get punished, which Jason Bourne claimed was viable reason. David Webb vehemently struck back, saying that they were already too deep to have climbed out without pain. He had been lucky; his memory had been taken. Nicky though…she'd had to deal with not having him all of that time without being able to at least know he remembered how they'd felt.

New perspective entered their thinking. Nicky, having to remember each day they met and kept cold, to keep their emotions bottled. When he and Conklin butted heads that last night and he'd pointed his gun at her. She'd seen nothing of him that remembered her, and she knew she'd become the sole holder of the memory that they had loved each other. Berlin, where the man she still loved but didn't know her had put a gun to her head and nearly pulled it. And she had stilled loved him afterward. Tangier, where she put her own life at jeopardy, into order to help the one that likely haunted her thoughts just as she had haunted his. The café, where she had seen the emptiness in his eyes and died inwardly. And the utter joy and relief she must have felt when he found her in London, when everything she'd been bottling for years was finally released and set free.

Bourne had dealt with her in his thoughts for only seventeen days. Nicky had been reminded of what could've been and what emotions remained for years.

He would end that. Bourne had failed to keep her safe, but he would not fail in getting her back. This fight had become much more personal. These people hadn't just interrupted his healing. They had cut off the woman he loved from being healed from more pain he dared to imagine. New fury entered Jason Bourne's planning. They would pay; Nicky deserved better than this. She shouldn't have to be in this world of death and shadow that he was part of.

David Webb quietly muttered how she deserved better than him too. He had shut down her feelings and forced her through all of this. She had the terrible memories of having to see him each time without him remembering how she and he had felt. It was only lately that she had what she had secretly desired. And still he had failed to protect her.

Jason Bourne had nothing to say to that.


	10. Retribution

Chapter X

Retribution

"Paz in position, over." The words buzzed through the Bluetooth in Bourne's ear. They both had them in, and were going to use them to communicate their positions and targets. A solid, elaborate plan hadn't been laid out; they were going to be working on the fly. That didn't mean that Jason Bourne hadn't come up with an idea on how to lead them to the slaughter. It meant that once bodies started piling, he would simply be killing until he found Nicky and got her out alive. Once that was done, he would ask for her forgiveness and give her the choice of leaving him or not. That seemed fair.

"Hold and wait for signal," Bourne replied, loading a silenced Glock and securing his pack. He counted to five after the last of the five men entered the apartment, and then walked in after them. He kicked down the door and fired one shot at the man who had just walked in, striking him in the head. The other four spun around from what they were doing to attack him but they were already part of David and Jason's body count. He caught one man by the hand to stop his shot and struck him in the gut. As he flinched Bourne lifted him by the strike and slammed him down on the table. It broke beneath his weight and Bourne was already moving towards the next man.

He leaned away as the man jabbed at him and caught his arm. Spinning himself around, Bourne pulled the man's arm onto his shoulder, breaking it. He followed through by kicking him in the knee and then shoving him backwards into another. Bourne faced the man right ahead of him and forced his body weight into him. Grabbing him by the wrist Bourne used the other's gun to shoot the man he'd smashed into the table. He elbowed the man he was grappling with and raised his own gun to the two behind him. Two thwacks accompanied one man dropping dead.

An uppercut slammed the man Bourne was grappling with in the jaw along with a painful nerve strike to the shoulder. Bourne spun around him and threw his arm around his neck, putting him as a human shield between him and the last man. Out of desperation the man fired, hitting only his comrade. A single bullet to the forehead ended the frantic shooting. Bourne let the man in his arms drop to the ground and began to get to work. He took handgun clips from the dead and slung an assault rifle over his shoulder. It had practically no use for assassination, but Jason and David weren't planning quiet killing; they were planning to take apart the mafia for taking her.

There was one final thing to do. Reloading his handgun, Bourne headed to the apartment heater. He pulled a homemade bomb out of the pack and turned on the receiver. Bourne moved to leave the room. As he left he scattered aerosol cans all over the floor. Bourne left the apartment putting the automatic in his pack and the handgun under his shirt. A mafia man reached the apartment just as Bourne was getting out. A knee to the stomach made the man flinch giving Bourne the opportunity to smash him in the head with the pack. He dropped unconscious. Bourne pulled out the handgun and fired twice.

He waited until he was a safe distance before pulling a signal sender out of his pocket. Not looking back David Webb pressed the send button. The bomb exploded, blowing the heater and aerosol cans across the floor. The apartment exploded. Jason counted the kills as vengeance for Nicky. David said the score wasn't settled. They both agreed on that.

*****

The explosion to the north of the mansion didn't shock Paz at all; he had been expecting it. Actually he had been waiting patiently for it ever since he had set up his scope rifle on top of a rooftop that was nigh impossible to get to. He was comfortably wedged in a corner, almost perfectly concealed while providing a wide view of the courtyard in front of the mansion. Two things separated the mansion from the rest of the town: a courtyard and a large iron fence. There was only one gate to it, and this is where Paz came in.

As soon as he heard the explosion, he looked down the scope, content to wait. Waiting for somebody to break cover or be targeted was the easiest part for Paz, other than killing. It bothered him a little that it still came so easily after being free of Black Briar and seeing a psychologist now. Wasn't it supposed to get easier to not kill? Paz would eventually learn the same lesson as Bourne: it was always easy to kill. The only thing that changed was the shame that came from killing another person who had no chance. From that came guilt and conscience. But the killing part stayed easy; they were trained to kill quickly and easily.

A man broke through the front doors, and Paz put aside all thoughts of morality. He was helping Bourne recover his life; that was good enough. Now was time to focus. Before the target was halfway to the gate, over a dozen men were following him towards the gate, doubtless on their way to see the disturbance at their safe house. Paz had their armament and number memorized as soon as he saw them: seventeen men in total all with assault rifles. The CIA should look into where they got them sometime. Then just as quickly he sighted down the first man, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger.

The man who had originally gone out had been reaching for the gate switch when an inch and a half bullet entered his brain. He jerked back with the shot as a bloody spurt shot briefly from his forehead. Paz couldn't even hear the bullet thanks to the rifle's silencer; he could hear the other sixteen's frantic shouts of panic as they for a second gaped at the body. Paz didn't join in their awe of his silent clean kill. He already had the second in his sights. With just as much feeling he squeezed the trigger again. The man who fell this time was closer towards the middle of the group.

As the men realized where the sniper's shots were coming from, they took cover behind stone ledges while two ran back for the mansion doors. Two bullets caught them as they reached the steps. They flung themselves forward onto the steps and lay there, blood pooling. Searching for a fifth target, Paz decided he might need to take more intensive therapy; this was almost too thrilling.

*****

Vincent De Luca didn't move when his men mobilized to meet the unknown threat. Instead, he reached inside his desk and slipped a six-shot revolver into his pocket. With calm only available after years, he turned to his right hand man, who stood nervously but reassured at the same time. The man was erratic: brilliant, but erratic. He was also loyal. So Vincent remained calm. "I hope to intent to tell me why there is an attack on my mansion."

"It's okay, boss. This is all part of my plan."

Here erratic habits emerged; his man didn't always remember to tell Vincent what he was doing. He stood up and walked to him, one hand on the revolver. One could never be too careful. "Care to explain?" he asked.

"I've lured Bourne here. We have enough men to deal with him."

"Bourne? _Jason Bourne_? You lured him here? Son of a bitch, why didn't you lure him somewhere else? Don't you remember who he is?" Vincent was always aware of the deaths of his father and uncle. He wanted Bourne to pay, but Bourne was dangerous as well.

"Yes, boss. I'm using himself against him. That's what I did in Paris, and I used his weakness to lure him here," his man explained. That was slightly assuring. Vincent's man usually knew what he was doing.

"What weakness? You never told me what you did in Paris. And what happened to that Nicky girl?"

"I kidnapped her, boss. She's locked up under guard in here. I'm using her to lure Bourne into making a mistake. Then we'll kill him and eventually her."

Vincent nodded slowly, and then punched his right hand man as hard as he could. The force knocked the lean man to the ground. Vincent pulled out the revolver and stuck it in his face. "You fucker. Do you know what you've just done? You're not luring just any man; you're luring Jason Bourne. And this isn't a trap anymore. You're an idiot. You just took the mother bear's cub; you killed the wolf pack's alpha male; you stole Bourne's lover, his mate, from him. And he's gonna make us all burn in hell and _then_ kill us."

His man paled as he realized how much peril they were in. Vincent put the revolver away; this was his first mistake. He let the other man get up. Vincent was a tough man; he'd killed his fair share of deadly opponents. "I might be able to salvage this. Pull up the mansion cameras on the computer. Now."

*****

Paz counted nine as he got off another head shot. This shot was dirty, spraying over the man next to him. The man was poorly trained; he leaped up in fear and surprise at the blood. Paz took the opportunity to shoot him as well. That emptied his magazine. He switched the rate of fire and put in a different ammo type. Taking precise aim, he fired a quick burst of automatic bullets at a group of men. They didn't break cover, like he expected, but it also served to keep them down. Bourne had to be there soon. He fired a second burst across the courtyard in a line. As he did, he spotted Bourne at the fence behind the men. He began to keep the men distracted.

Bourne took the automatic out of his pack and climbed up and over the fence. He took aim as he walked and fired. Automatic fire ripped into unsuspecting men, killing them while they were still preoccupied with the sniper. Only two were still alive to turn towards Bourne. Paz took them both out with a burst. Bourne emptied the assault rifle and turned off the tape recorder. He marched towards the gate, pulling out his handgun and abandoning the now empty pack. The gate opened as Bourne hit the switch. "We're in. Move on my position."

"Copy. Reforming," Paz replied, getting his silenced Glock. It had been somewhat easier to learn Paz had been a Navy Seal before Black Briar. With Bourne's Army experience, it gave them something to work with now that they weren't working alone. Military commands were starting to slip into their conversations. He really needed that psychologist. Paz considered the rifle. It still had plenty of ammo for automatic fire, but he had no time to put it away or take it with him. He objected to leave it for the moment; nobody except an asset or agent could spot the rifle or even get to it. He grabbed the roof ledge and began his descent.

Bourne had already gone inside. He had his gun held out in front of him, ready to fire. A man darted around the corner and Bourne pulled the trigger. The man dropped quickly. Passing by him, Bourne came to a split. He turned on the tape recorder then threw it down the hall and hid inside a door. Automatic fire filled the hall and two men ran past him, guns at the ready. Bourne opened up the door and walked behind him as they stared confused at the tape recorder. He put a gun to one and fired.

The other spun around gun at the ready. Bourne slammed the butt of his handgun into the man's temple and kicked him in the groin. As the man sunk to his knees, he looked up and saw Bourne shoot him. Bourne grabbed a radio and headed further down the hall. Three men leaped out of doors at him. Bourne shot one in the leg then struck one in the arm with his gun. He palmed the third in the nose and brought his hand around at the second. He grabbed him by the face and smashed the back of his head into the wall. The third grabbed Bourne's shoulder. Bourne snapped his head back and struck him in the nose again. He brought his knee into the third's stomach and foot back at the second's chest. That left both open as Bourne fired at the second before shooting the third.

A bullet whizzed past him and finished the first. Bourne spun around ready only to find Paz catching up to him. Reloading his gun Bourne and Paz made their way down the hall. When the radio began speaking Paz motioned towards a door. Bourne hid inside as Paz began firing nondescript where they came from. Three men came down the hall. "He's this way!" Paz shouted, and they ran past him. Bourne emerged from the closet as Paz squeezed off a shot. They shot the other two and continued on their way.

The radio buzzed again. "Bring Nicky to my office! Immediately!" Bourne's boiled blood heated further. They thought they could use Nicky to stop him? If they threatened her in anyway…Bourne motioned forward with a hand signal and they began to jog towards the office. Jason Bourne knew where it was; he'd infiltrated the mafia once. David Webb counted their body count. Part of David recoiled a little; Nicky had made it clear in London she was concerned for him when he killed. But if he didn't now, they would likely shoot them on their way out. It was necessary at the moment. But David knew that he would be seeing faces tonight.

Bourne and Paz froze as they reached the corner that would lead them to the office. Both could tell there were several men waiting with assault rifles. Before either could react properly, more men with assault rifles emerged behind them, far enough off that Bourne and Paz couldn't reach them. "Drop them," one of them ordered. Bourne and Paz exchanged stances. They dropped their handguns simultaneously. Jason Bourne calculated, as they led them at a distance inside the office, what to do. He couldn't find much. David Webb began apologizing to Nicky.

*****

Vincent stood in front of Bourne and Paz. Paz, he didn't know, other than he was probably as dangerous as Bourne. He kept a good three feet away so neither could reach him and take him down. Behind him, six men stood with assault rifles at the ready. His right hand man was to his right. Two more men stood just behind Bourne and Paz. Even if they attacked them, he had six more men to shoot them. It was lose-lose situation for the two assassins, something Vincent had spent multiple nights pondering.

But now he had them; his risky gambit had been lucky. Nicky had never been sent to his office. He had calmly watched the cameras which Bourne ignored in favor of killing his men. It had been frightening, even to him, to watch the efficiency and speed with which Bourne killed. Whatever absence Bourne had from the CIA didn't reduce his skills at all.

"Jason Bourne," he finally said, fondling the six-shot revolver in his hands. "We meet finally at last. I am Vincent De Luca. You might know me through my father." Bourne could in a way; Vincent wasn't overweight like his father had been, but was stockier and built. The man was in decent shape. But his face gave him away as family. They had similar eyebrows and noses. Either way, Bourne didn't care much; he only wanted to punish the man for taking Nicky.

"What did you do to her?" Bourne asked softly. Vincent was taken aback a second by the cold, quiet, seething rage in the ex-agent's voice. There was enough power in Bourne's voice to make nearly any man stand down and tremble. But Vincent had been spending the last years waiting patiently for his chance to avenge his family's deaths. He wouldn't be so easily disturbed. Although, in Bourne's defense, chills did run down his spine. For a brief moment he hoped his right hand man hadn't done anything yet.

"You'll have to ask my man," Vincent explained, gesturing towards the man. To a small relief, his right hand man shook his head. The man wasn't completely stupid.

"Why did you want me dead?" Bourne asked this time, the same hidden steel underlying his words. Bourne might be the captive, but he was the predator here.

"You're part of the organization that killed my father and uncle. I want revenge. Nearly all of Treadstone is dead, except for two. Fitting, in a way. I've been waiting for you to be free of the CIA, to be certain you weren't just under cover. And now you aren't." He loaded the revolver. "Two of my family members died because of you. So two shots each for the three of you will do." Vincent raised the revolver at Bourne, still safely out of range. Jason Bourne was frantic for a way out; David Webb was regretful. They both merged on the thought that they had failed Nicky, and that they would love her no matter how terrible their failure and sin.

There was the sound of gunfire.


	11. Unfinished Matters

Epilogue

Unfinished Matters

Automatic gunfire tore into their unsuspecting bodies, jerking the six men behind Vincent as they died. Bourne's arm snapped behind him and reached for the man's gun. He jerked it up into the man's face and kicked his knee. Wrenching the rifle away Bourne finished him by slamming the butt of the gun into his face. Paz's approach was different. He caught the rifle behind him and shoved it back into the man's shoulder. He followed through with an elbow to the face punch to the stomach and a strike to the temple. Both of the gunmen were down and unconscious as Bourne and Paz backed up to take cover.

Gunfire continued to spray throughout the room. With the six soldiers behind Vincent dead, the gunfire turned slowly towards Vincent. It struck the desk and sprayed wood everywhere, making it impossible for Bourne to see. Then the firing stopped and Jason Bourne's persona began to think. He glanced at the window where the gunfire had suddenly burst from, surprising all of them and stopping Vincent from killing him. That part he was grateful for, but it didn't make any sense as to where the lone gunner had suddenly come from. He put the facts he knew to the back of his mind for the moment as he surveyed any immediate danger in front of him.

Vincent didn't groan but let the lancing pain in his body run its course. It was pure luck that he hadn't killed; his right hand man and the desk had taken most of the bullets for him. Still, bullets had entered his lower leg and shoulder. He didn't make a noise because he knew he would end up shouting in pain. Still, as he locked eyes with Bourne, he realized he was probably dead any way. Bourne kicked the revolver away unnecessarily; Vincent didn't have the strength to kill him right now. Then Bourne grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him on top of what remained on the desk, while Paz looked for any sign of their rescuer.

He coughed painfully. "You never gave up your advantage, did you Bourne?" he asked. He had to know who had thwarted him. "You had a third man outside the window at all time. You really can't be beaten." Bourne didn't say anything, didn't give anything away in his face, but held the assault rifle to him.

"Where is she?" Bourne pressed, loading the gun for effect. Vincent was unaffected. He knew when he was beaten, and this was one of those times. Taking steady breaths to assure he could speak, Vincent tried to shift his weight to a more comfortable position. It was difficult underneath the barrel pointed at him by the world's deadliest person.

"She's locked in a room off the main hall," Vincent muttered back. He found himself glad his former right hand had never done anything to Nicky; it would've greatly decreased his chances of living. Not that they were high right now. To his surprise, Bourne pulled the gun away slowly.

"She doesn't want me to kill," Bourne muttered, and Vincent wondered why Nicky would deny Bourne a part of him that was integrated the way other people eat? He didn't think much more when Bourne slammed the gun into him and knocked him out.

Vincent taken care of, Bourne turned to Paz, who was dialing somebody on his Bluetooth. That also made Bourne thinks about his previous questions. Who had been their rescuer? While Paz was dialing, their eyes met. Body position changed. Both had recognized the sound of the gun: it was a CIA issued rifle, similar to Paz's. But it hadn't been Paz's rifle. That specific rifle was still sitting on a rooftop on the other side of the mansion. For somebody to take Paz's rifle, sprint around the mansion, climb a building and take aim before they had gotten to where they were would have taken superhuman effort. Bourne wasn't certain he could've done a stunt like that. It left one solution: the CIA had sent somebody to help him after all.

"Wait here," Bourne ordered. He left the room and broke into a run, searching for a locked door. He caught one halfway back to the entrance. Blood starting to race again, he slammed the butt of the gun into the lock and broke it. He dropped the assault rifle and threw open the door in one motion. Nicky was sitting tied to a chair with a cloth gag over her mouth. Her dark, panicked, frightened eyes met his lighter, anxious, worried ones. At the sight of each other, both caught their breath. Nicky's eyes began to shine with welled tears, feeling a gush of relief and joy at the sight of the man she loved.

Soundlessly he began to untie her. As soon as Bourne undid the gag she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Bourne was surprised a second and then embraced him back just as securely, both personas finally winding down. Nicky was safe again; he had taken her back from her personal nightmare. Time passed as they continued the embrace, content with holding each other against the physical and mental trauma they had suffered starting in Paris. It was healing and closure, the best they could get.

Bourne gently released her and looked her over for anything marks or bruises. "I'm fine," Nicky replied quietly, her gaze piercing him. There was a tremble in her voice and in how she stood; she wasn't mentally fine. Fright still had her. David Webb began to worry for shock. Jason Bourne rapidly assured that she was tougher than she looked. He also reminded them that there wasn't much time to stand around here; likely police would be responding to the explosion and gunfire soon. Taking her by the arm, but softer than normally, he led her out of the room and back towards where Paz was waiting.

Paz was in the process of muttering to himself and stomping on his Bluetooth; the device had broken and he was using his cell phone. It finished dialing as Landy picked up. "Paz reporting," he stated as Bourne and Nicky entered the room. She temporarily jumped when she saw him, but a silent conversation between Bourne and her calmed her still frightened nerves. He had been right; they did mirror each other.

"I take it your 'sick leave' is finished?" Landy asked. There was a slight tinge of regret. Did she regret letting him kill? He had read her file to know who he would be working with. She was against black ops and killing orders for a lot of reasons. Was she struggling with some inner demon for letting him do this?

"Yes, ma'am," Paz replied. He glanced at Bourne. "We're…thankful for the help you sent."

"…Paz, we didn't send anybody. I kept this out of the CIA, no body count." Paz froze, hand reaching for his gun. Bourne's posture stiffened as the agent recognized what the asset was feeling. Neither he nor Nicky had heard it, but Bourne knew all the same.

Nicky felt her panic level start to rise again. Something was bothering Paz, but she couldn't tell what. She didn't know the asset the way she knew Bourne and his movements were nothing to her. But Bourne was just was shocked and alarmed right now, and that she could read. The exact cause was uncertain, but anything that worried Bourne worried her. Finally she spoke as Paz hung up. "What is it?"

Bourne spoke slowly, his posture reflecting he wasn't trying to scare her. "A gunman helped us, with a CIA issued weapon, and they weren't sent by the CIA."

*****

The mystery was still running through Jason Bourne's mind as he and Nicky approached the train. It was an enigma who knew Bourne enough to help him, yet who had somehow survived him at one point or another without Bourne knowing him. His mind had slowly settled on another former asset of Black Briar. It was the only reasonable explanation. No one else had those types of weaponry. Treadstone was dead, so maybe another former asset had decided to thank Bourne, anonymously. Whoever it was had to be good enough to be hidden from him all this time. Only someone trained to be an assassin could do that.

David Webb was occupied with something he considered far more important. He had stated a specific course of objectives he said he would complete. But at the moment, he found himself afraid, for the first time he could remember, to do what he had planned to. Carefully, almost panicked, Bourne spoke. "Nicky."

She turned towards him, and he regretted his choice. There was such feeling in her face like always that tore his heart in two directions. One was towards her; the other was towards the fear in his choice. She had such trust in him now that he almost considered changing his choice. But he refused to do that to her, and he steeled himself as best as he could against the beauty and features of her face. "I've hurt you…a lot."

Her expression changed to confusion and a slight tinge of fear. Her posture changed almost immediately, moving closer as if to prevent an escape. He continued despite the terrible build in his stomach. "Everything I've done since I lost my memory, even before then, has made you hurt." They exchanged a silent conversation as Nicky realized what he was talking about. She knew that he had finally remembered, and had added up what she had been through inside. But for some reason, instead of hurt, there was compassion in her eyes.

He continued to speak. He always spoke when it was especially important. "I don't want to hurt you anymore. It's you choice if you still want me here." David Webb began begging inside, and Jason Bourne stood still in anguish, waiting for what he thought was the obvious choice.

Nicky's eyes bulged in fear as she realized what he meant and thought. Her posture changed to panic and she embraced him quickly, pulling him closer to prevent an escape. All this time, he had been afraid that being closer would hurt her more? "Don't leave," she whispered into his ear. "I need you. I, I love you."

She had said it. Jason Bourne was frozen with pure bliss, and David Webb began to change the knot in his stomach into pure ecstasy. Bourne thought he might have smiled as he embraced her back, feeling strangely giddy. Nicky, Nicky Parsons, had said she loved him and wanted him to say. None of the dangers he had faced or problems still ahead bothered him. He fought to find the power to say what he felt. "I love you too," he muttered back, with as much feeling as both personas could find.

She smiled again: a genuine happy smile that Bourne could only remember seeing once. They exchanged glances and postures, Bourne taking in her expression of how happy she finally was. And he was surprised to find a calm, finally balanced center. And it revolved around the flood of emotion in her beautiful face.

It was time for their train to depart. Nicky prepared for Bourne's protective, if a little overzealous, hand on her arm, but was surprised when he hesitantly offered his hand instead. She took it with the same continuing smile as they boarded the train, content with the knowledge that she was finally with the person she loved the most, known to the world as Jason Bourne.

*****

"Boss, I really can't be talking too long. This line might be tapped. This is my career field I'm in, after all."

"Good day to you too. Starting finding Bourne again. Pull out all the power you have. You were able to do it twice; you should be able to again with attracting attention. Just call him one of your personal curiosities."

"What boss?"

"I said find him so we can kill him!"

"But, boss, didn't he just spare you?"

"One: don't question me again. I'm put you there, and I'll kill you just as quickly. Two: I still have two dead family members. Three: they're not dead yet."

"What about the lone gunman?"

"Find out about it. I thought you made it clear not to send men."

"We didn't. I don't know how Paz got there."

"Make sure he doesn't again. Bourne didn't know who it was, either. That gives me equal playing field. Now get to your work."

"Yes, boss."


End file.
